University of Virginia Library



III.

[Better than bones of Saints apocryphal]

Better than bones of Saints apocryphal,
Fictions and figments of a doting creed,
This relic of our Izaak—saint, indeed,
Was he, of the true strain—a light for all
To walk by; on his sacred fame there lies
No shadow—truest Christian, tenderest friend—
In all your Kalendar, from end to end,
Find me his peer, ye Popes and hierarchies!
And by God's throne, and by the rivers fair,
That wind and wander through the happy land—
Where souls throng thickest on the golden strand,
Beatified—in peace beyond compare,
Whose bliss is fuller than our Izaak's bliss?
What soul doth wear a whiter robe than his?