rs; yet resolute to wait,
Whatever ills betide, whatever fate;
Far from my native land, from sights of woe,
From scaffolds drenched in generous blood, I go.[204]
Sad, in a land of strangers, when I bend
With grief of heart, without a home or friend,
And chiefly when with weary thoughts oppressed,
I see the sun sink slowly in the west;
Then, doubly feeling my forsaken lot,
I shall remember, far away, this cot
Of humble piety, and prayer, and peace,
And thee, dear friend, till my heart's beatings cease.
Warm from that heart I breathe one parting prayer:
My good old friend, may God Almighty spare--
Spare, for the sake of that poor child,[205] thy life,--
Long spare it for thy meek and duteous wife.
Perhaps o'er them, when the hard storm blows loud,
We both may be at rest and in our shroud;
Or we may live to talk of these sad times,
When virtue was reviled, and direst crimes
Faith's awful name usurped. We may again
Hear heavenly truths in the time-hallowed fane,
And the full chant. Oh! if that day arrive,
And we, old friend, though bowed with age, survive,
How happy, whilst our days on earth shall last,
To pray and think of seasons that are past,
Till on our various way the night shall close,
And in one hallowed pile, at last, our bones repose.[206]

* * * * *

THE GRAVE OF BISHOP KEN.

1 On yonder heap of earth forlorn,
Where Ken his place of burial chose,
Peacefully shine, O Sabbath morn!
And, eve, with gentlest hush, repose.

2 To him is reared no marble tomb,
Within the dim cathedral fane;
But some faint flowers, of summer bloom,
And silent falls the wintry rain.

3 No village monumental stone
Records a verse, a date, a name--
What boots it? when thy task is done,
Christian, how vain the sound of fame!

4 Oh! far more grateful to thy God,
The voices of poor children rise,
Who hasten o'er the dewy sod,
"To pay their morning sacrifice."[207]

5 And can we listen to their hymn,
Heard, haply, when the evening knell
Sounds, where the village brow is dim,
As if to bid the world farewell!

6 Without a thought that from the dust
The morn shall wake the sleeping clay,
And bid the faithful and the just
Upspring to heaven's eternal day!