'AH, could thy grave at home, at Carthage, be!'-- Care not for that, and lay me where I fall. Everywhere heard will be the judgment-call. But at God's altar, oh! remember me. Thus Monica, and died in Italy. Yet fervent had her longing been, through all Her course, for home at last, and burial With her own husband, by the Libyan sea. Had been; but at the end, to her pure soul All tie with all beside seem'd vain and cheap, And union before God the only care. Creeds pass, rites change, no altar standeth whole; Yet we her memory, as she pray'd, will keep, Keep by this: Life in God, and union there! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AN AMERICAN IN BANGKOK by KAREN SWENSON THE VOICE OF THE ANCIENT BARD, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE THE BABY, FR. AT THE BACK OF THE NORTH WIND by GEORGE MACDONALD SEA SLUMBER-SONG by RODEN BERKELEY WRIOTHESLEY NOEL THE RUBAIYAT, 1879 EDITION: 23 by OMAR KHAYYAM AIRY NOTHINGS. FR. THE TEMPEST by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE |