O star-built bridge, broad milky way! O star-lit, stately, splendid span! If but one star should cease to stay And prop its shoulders to God's plan The man who lives for self, I say, He lives for neither God nor man.
Here Vaughan lies dead, whose name flows on for ever Through pastures of the spirit washed with dew And starlit with eternities unknown.
A starlit or a moonlit dome disdains All that man is, All mere complexities The fury and the mire of human veins.
I belong to the Great Church which holds the world within its starlit aisles; that claims the great and good of every race and clime; that finds with joy the grain of gold in every creed, and floods with light and love the germs of good in every soul.
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