To thy eternal home of light.

Here on earth is all we know:

To let our love as steadfast blow,

Open-hearted to the sun,

Folded down when our day's done,

As thy flower that bids it be

Flower of thy charity.

'Tis not ours to boast or pray

Breath from us shall outlive clay;

'Tis not thine, thou Pitiful,

Set me task beyond my rule.

Yet as young men carve on trees

Lovely names, and find in these

Solace in the after time,

So to have hid thee in my rhyme

Shall be comfort when I take

The lonely road. Then, for my sake,

Keep thou this my graven sigh,

And, that I may not all die,

Open it, and hear it tell,

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