Poems By William Walsham How ... New and Enlarged Edition |
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On the Death of Bishop Lonsdale
of Lichfield,
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On the Death of Bishop Lonsdale of Lichfield,
Oct. 19, 1867.
The pulses of a great and loving heartAre still, and tears are dimming many eyes.
Scarce had the echoing outbursts time to die
That rose but now from that vast deep-stirred throng,
Responsive to his gracious parting words,—
Scarce had that voice itself its pleadings ceased
For the dear Church he loved and ruled so well,
When weary he lay down and fell asleep.
“Labour and sorrow” with his fourscore years
Came not. With sword in hand upon the field
The white-haired warrior fell. Oh, blissful end!
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Full sorely shall we miss the calm wise mind;
The wide and ready sympathy; the love
Unselfish, patient, Christlike; the large soul
That held in its embrace all good and true;
The single heart that thought and knew no guile.
A noble life hath nobly wrought itself,
And graven in a thousand stricken hearts
A deathless monument that evermore,
Like the fair spires of his own glorious fane,
Stands pointing, calm and motionless, to heaven.
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