But generations new,
In regular descent from him,

Have filled the stately pew;
And in the same succession go,
To occupy the vault below.

And now, the polished, modern squire
And his gay train appear,
Who duly to the hall retire,

A season, every year,

And fill the seats with belle and beau,
As 'twas so many years ago.

Perchance, all thoughtless as they tread
The hollow sounding floor,
Of that dark house of kindred dead,
Which shall, as heretofore,

Another, and another guest,

The feathered hearse and sable

train,

In all its wonted state,

Shall wind along the village lane, And stand before the gate; Brought many a distant country through,

To join the final rendezvous.

And when the race is swept away,
All to their dusty beds,
Still shall the mellow evening ray
Shine gayly o'er their heads;
While other faces, fresh and new,
Shall occupy the squire's pew.

[From In Memoriam.]

STRONG SON OF GOD.

STRONG Son of God, immortal Love, Whom we, that have not seen thy face,

By faith, and faith alone, embrace, Believing where we cannot prove;

Thine are these orbs of light and shade;

Thou madest life in man and brute,

Forgive what seemed my sin in me:" What seemed my worth since I began;

For merit lives from man to man, And not from man, O Lord, to thee. Forgive my grief for one removed, Thy creature, whom I found so fair,

I trust he lives in thee, and there I find him worthier to be loved.

foot

Our little systems have their day;

They have their day and cease to be: They are but broken lights of thee, And thou, O Lord, art more than they.

We have but faith: we cannot know; For knowledge is of things we see: And yet we trust it comes from thee,

A beam in darkness: let it grow.

Let knowledge grow from more to more,

But more of reverence in us dwell:

That mind and soul according well, May make one music as before,

But vaster. We are fools and slight:

We mock thee when we do not fear:

But help thy foolish ones to bear; Help thy vain worlds to bear thy light.

cries,

Confusions of a wasted youth: Forgive them where they fail in truth,

And in thy wisdom make me wise.

[From In Memoriam.]

HOPE FOR ALL.

Он, yet we trust that somehow good
Will be the final goal of ill,
To pangs of nature, sins of will,
Defects of doubt, and taints of blood:

That nothing walks, with aimless feet;

That not one life shall be destroyed, Or cast as rubbish to the void, When God hath made the pile complete:

That not a worm is cloven in vain:

That not a moth with vain desire Is shrivelled in a fruitless fire, Or but subserves another's gain.

Behold we know not anything:

I can but trust that good shall fail At last-far-off — at last, to all, And every winter change to spring.

So runs my dream: but what am I ?

An infant crying in the night: An infant crying for the light: And with no language but a cry.

The wish, that of the living whole

No life may fail beyond the grave Derives it not from what we have The likest God within the soul?

The spirits from their golden day, Except, like them, thou too canst