Such as to look on shrives
The heart of half its care;
So in each line survives
The spirit that made it fair,
So fair the characters,
With which the dusty scroll,
That tells his title, stirs
A requiem for his soul.
Yet dearer far to me,
And brave as he are they,
Who fight by land and sea
For England at this day;
Whose vile memorials,
In mournful marbles gilt,
Deface the beauteous walls
By growing glory built.
Heirs of our antique shrines,
Sires of our future fame,
Whose starry honour shines
In many a noble name
Across the deathful days,
Link’d in the brotherhood
That loves our country’s praise,
And lives for heavenly good.
Robert Bridges.