Good always sowing on thy road impress’d:
And as it China’s toilsome shore acquires,
Confucius from his tomb of honour’d fame,
If could his venerable form arise,
To see it in glad wonder might exclaim,
“’Twas worthy of my virtue, this emprise!”
Right worthy was it of thee, mighty sage!
Worthy of that divine and highest light,
Which reason and which virtue erst array’d
To shine in happier days, now quench’d in night.