And the brother, too, who with joy and grace
Would part the ringlets from off thy face,
They have gone in turn in a shadowy band;
Oh, yes, they have flown to the better land,
They have traced their names on the slab of white:
Go read the line, if it dim thy sight,
And standing there, with their dust beneath,
And the eye of faith on their seraph-wreath,
Oh vow, in the strength of God’s blessed Son,
To win the crown that your kindred won,