THE GRAVE OF BISHOP KEN.
1
On yonder heap of earth forlorn,
Where Ken his place of burial chose,
Peacefully shine, O Sabbath morn!
And, eve, with gentlest hush, repose.
2
To him is reared no marble tomb,
Within the dim cathedral fane;
But some faint flowers, of summer bloom,
And silent falls the wintry rain.
3
No village monumental stone
Records a verse, a date, a name—
What boots it? when thy task is done,
Christian, how vain the sound of fame!
4
Oh! far more grateful to thy God,
The voices of poor children rise,
Who hasten o'er the dewy sod,
“To pay their morning sacrifice.”
5
And can we listen to their hymn,
Heard, haply, when the evening knell
Sounds, where the village brow is dim,
As if to bid the world farewell!
6
Without a thought that from the dust
The morn shall wake the sleeping clay,
And bid the faithful and the just
Upspring to heaven's eternal day!
