And men even here a converse hold
With those whom they shall meet when dead.
Lord of the World, Almighty King,
Thy shadow resteth over all:
Or where the Saints Thy terrors sing,
Or where the waves obey Thy call.’
To this productive year belong also some haunting unfinished lines which might bear for a title The Summons. Of course none of these three poems of Hurrell’s appeared, later, in Lyra Apostolica; nor elsewhere than in the Remains.
‘To-night my dreary course is run,
And at the setting of the sun,
Far beneath the western wave