Rt. Rev. Arthur Cleveland Coxe, D.D.

WHEN old Canute the Dane

Was Merry England’s king;

A thousand years agone, and more,

As ancient rumours sing;

His boat was rowing down the Ouse,

At eve, one summer day,

Where Ely’s tall cathedral peered

Above the glassy way.

Anon, sweet music on his ear

Comes floating from the fane,

And listening, as with all his soul,

Sat old Canute the Dane;

And reverently did he doff his crown

To join the clerkly prayer,

While swelled old lauds and litanies

Upon the stilly air.

Now, who shall glide on Hudson’s breast

At eve of summer’s day,

And cometh where St. Peter’s tower

Peers o’er his coasting way;

A moment let him slack his oar

And speed more still along,

His ear shall catch those very notes

Of litany and song.

The Church that sang those anthem prayers

A thousand years ago,

Is singing yet by silver Cam,

And here by Hudson’s flow:

And glorias that thrilled the heart

Of old Canute the Dane

Are rising yet, at noon and eve,

From Chelsea’s student train.