He peaceful sleeps within his silent home.
We see him not; and yet perchance he hears
In dreams our echoing voices as we pass
Athwart his shuttered windows—hears us bless
The light he lighted, gleaming through the night
A welcome to the lost and weary; wakes perchance
To murmur, "All is well," then sleeps again.
So may he sleep in peace until the Sun
From which his flame was borrowed wakes the East
To crimson glory, and his glimmering lights