To shed upon thy place of sculpture
The splendor of a Presence from the skies;
For thou shalt see a fairer sight than all
The panoramas of the Seasons bring,
And hear far sweeter music than the sound
Of murmuring waters, or the melody
Of birds that warble in their happy nests:
Yea, thou shalt see how little children come
To deck thy grave with daisies, wet with tears;
See homeless Want slow hither wend his way,