IV.
“Gather up the fragments that remain, that nothing be lost.”—John vi. 12.
It is the sovereign voice of Nature's King,
Echoed through all His works. The swift decay
Inscribed on earth's magnificent array,
For new perfection marks each fading thing.
All changing forms to second being spring,
By earth embalmed. The hues that pass away
From golden-anthered flowers the soil repay;
Or insect worlds are ever on the wing,
To catch the glorious spoil. All fragments seem,
Transformed, or gathered up, with life to teem.
Man only dies and renders no return.
But nothing may be lost: his mouldering frame
Shall give its fragments up,—ere empires burn,
And triumph o'er the universal flame.
