Who, richly dower’d for life, are call’d to die
Ere the soul’s flame, through storms, hath won repose
In truth’s divinest ether, still and high!
Let their mind’s riches claim a trustful sigh!
Deem them but sad, sweet fragments of a strain,
First notes of some yet struggling harmony,
By the strong rush, the crowding joy and pain
Of many inspirations met, and held
From its true sphere,—oh! soon it might have swell’d
Majestically forth! Nor doubt that He,