All else is worthless—but, if thou hast left
Upon thy pathway pure and sterling grain,
And Memory’s hand has gathered it for thee,
Then shalt thou tread the golden streets of Heaven,
And thy clear brow shall wear a seraph’s crown.
Scatter, oh! scatter on thine earthly way
The perfect seed of Goodness, Truth and Love:
That, when thou meetest Memory on high,
Bearing the tokens of thy life’s employ,
Thou shalt embrace her as an olden friend: —