Dear Friend, who, at stern duty’s call, exile
To fame preferredst, well content to dwell
Where round old Vectis, rock-encircled isle,
With endless boom tumultuous billows swell,
As once from out luxurious Italy
Augustine at Ambrosius’ call did flee
To distant Hippo, there with watch and ward
Stedfastly “God's beleaguered Church” to guard.
Receive his writings, thou that worthy art
Of converse with an Apostolic heart,
As through thy life to these cold times appears
The meek deep piety of bygone years.
And in thy peaceful countenance we trace
Features all bright of an old saintly face.