As the Doves to their windows

They throng from the east and the west,
The north and the south, with a song;
To golden abodes of their rest
They throng.

Eternity stretches out long:
Time, brief at its worst or its best,
Will quit them of ruin and wrong.

A rainbow aloft for their crest,
A palm for their weakness made strong!
As doves breast all winds to their nest,
They throng.