 | Poems |  |
INSCRIPTION FOR A BUST
OF THE LATE WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED.
Not that in him, whom these poor praises wrong,
Gifts, rare themselves, in rarest union dwelt;
Not that, reveal'd through eloquence and song,
In him the Bard and Statesman breathed and felt;—
Gifts, rare themselves, in rarest union dwelt;
Not that, reveal'd through eloquence and song,
In him the Bard and Statesman breathed and felt;—
Not that his nature, graciously endued
With feelings and affections pure and high,
Was purged from worldly taint, and self-subdued,
Till soul o'er sense gain'd perfect mastery;—
With feelings and affections pure and high,
Was purged from worldly taint, and self-subdued,
Till soul o'er sense gain'd perfect mastery;—
Not for this only we lament his loss,—
Not for this chiefly we account him blest;
But that all this he cast beneath the Cross,
Content for Christ to live, in Christ to rest.
Not for this chiefly we account him blest;
But that all this he cast beneath the Cross,
Content for Christ to live, in Christ to rest.
| Poems | |