Draw still our hearts to thee, else, else how vain
Their hope, the fair lost birthright to regain!
TO AN AGED FRIEND.[435]
Not long thy voice amongst us may be heard,
Servant of God!—thy day is almost done;
The charm now lingering in thy look and word
Is that which hangs about thy setting sun—
That which the meekness of decay hath won
Still from revering love. Yet doth the sense
Of life immortal—progress but begun—