II. And therefore, to our hearts, the days gone by, When lived the honoured sage whose death we wept, And the soft virtues beamed from many an eye, And beat in many a heart that long has slept,Like spots of earth where angel-feet have stepped, Are holy; and high-dreaming bards have told Of times when worth was crowned, and faith was kept, Ere friendship grew a snare, or love waxed cold— Those pure and happy times-the golden days of old. III. Peace to the just man's memory; let it grow Greener with years, and blossom through the flight Of ages; let the mimic canvas show His calm benevolent features; let the light Stream on his deeds of love, that shunned the sight Of all but heaven, and in the book of fame, And hold it up to men, and bid them claim IV. But oh, despair not of their fate who rise And trode his brethren down, and felt no awe Ripens, meanwhile, till time shall call it forth From the low modest shade, to light and bless the earth. V. Has Nature, in her calm, majestic march Faltered with age at last? does the bright sun Grow dim in heaven? or, in their far blue arch, Sparkle the crowd of stars, when day is done, Less brightly? when the dew-lipped Spring comes on, Breathes she with airs less soft, or scents the sky With flowers less fair than when her reign be gun? Does prodigal Autumn, to our age, deny The plenty that once swelled beneath his sober eye? 5 VI. Look on this beautiful world, and read the truth VII. Will then the merciful One, who stamped our race With his own image, and who gave them sway Are spread, where'er the moist earth drinks the day, Forget the ancient care that taught and nursed VIII. Oh, no! a thousand cheerful omens give |