That the everlasting sun of all time sees

All golden, molten from the forge of years,

Smiled, as the gift was laid upon his knees

Of songs that hang like pearls in mourners' ears,

Mild as the murmuring of Hymettian bees

And honied as their harvest, that endears

The toil of flowery days;

And smiling perfect praise

Hailed his one brother mateless else of peers:

Whom we that hear not him

For length of date grown dim

Hear, and the heart grows glad of grief that hears;

And harshest heights of sorrowing hours,

Like snows of Alpine April, melt from tears to flowers.

16.

Therefore to him the shadow of death was none,

The darkness was not, nor the temporal tomb:

And multitudinous time for him was one,

Who bade before his equal seat of doom

Rise and stand up for judgment in the sun

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