AY, thou hast gained the end Of long and glorious strife, Consoled by love and friend, Thrice blessed life! If all the immortal die What gain hath life to give, If all the immortal live Death brings no sigh! Oh, long life lit with praise For Duty nobly done, High aims, laborious days, And the crown won! Why should we mourn and weep That thou dost toil no more? At length God gives thee sleep, Thy labours o'er! The crying of the weak Called not to thee in vain; Thy swift tongue burned to speak Relief to pain. The lightning of thy scorn No wrong might long defy, Thy ruth for lives forlorn, Thy piercing eye. Good Knight! no soil of wrong Thy spotless shield might stain; Thy keen sword served thee long, And not in vain. Oh, high impetuous soul, That, mounting to the Light, Spurned'st the dull world's control To gain the Right. 'Mid strife the Century dies -- Massacre, Famine, War; The noise of groans and sighs Is borne afar. The monstrous cannon roar, The earth, the air, are torn, 'Mid thunderings evermore Time's Dawns are born! But thou no more art here, But watchest far away, Calm in some peaceful sphere, The Eternal Day. Oh, thou who long didst guide Our Britain's loyal will, Invisible at her side Aid thou her still! Oh, aged life and blest, Wearing thy duteous years, Enter thou on thy rest; We shed no tears! Wear thou thy labours to thy country given, Thy eloquent tongue, thy keen untiring brain, Thy changeless love of Man, thy trust in Heaven, Thy crown of Pain. |