First, most, to thee, my son, I give this book
In which a friend's and brother's verses blend With mine; for not son only--brother, friend,
Art thou, through sonship which no veil can brook Between the eyes that in each other look,
Or any shadow 'twixt the hearts that tend Still nearer, with divine approach, to end
In love eternal that cannot be shook
When all the shakable shall cease to be.
With growing hope I greet the coming day
When from thy journey done I welcome thee Who sharest in the names of all the three,
And take thee to the two, and humbly say, Let this man be the fourth with us, I pray.