If the day looks kinder gloomy And your chances kinder slim, If the situation's puzzlin' And the prospect's awful grim, If perplexities keep pressin'

Then Arthur of Cornwall, his son, like to a boar grim in battle, will utterly devour these false traitors, and destroy thy kinsfolk from the land.

They are bound for this strangely mystical land So shadowy, lone and so dim, And my castle's a port on the ocean strand, Where they wait for the ferryman grim, To row them away from the silvery beach Beyond the foam of the tide, Where a palace looms far away from their reach, Whose gates are closed with a clang to each Who have chosen the pathway wide.

Near by, one jagged rock towered high, And o'er the waters leaned, like giant grim, Striving to peer into the mysteries The ocean whispers of continually, And covers with her soft, treacherous face.

As God once blessed the stable grim And made it radiant for Him; As it was fit to shield His Son, May thy roof be a holy one; May all who come this house to share Rest sweetly in His gracious care.