The Poetry of Real Life | ||
169
MY OWN EPITAPH.
Here lies one who was in his faults a Man,But in his virtues likewise, though but few—
Who, while he lived, strove still to keep in view
The grand essentials with which he began
This life: which God placed first in the great plan;
And to which still, if we would judge men true,
We must recur: when things that round them grew,
Mere parasitic growths, less during than
The ivy: accidents of time and place,
Have passed away, and left them bare to all
The influences which ceaselessly efface
Things of a day, to build up on their fall
The names which are to leave a lasting trace,
And in men's mouths be always musical!
The Poetry of Real Life | ||