 | Three Hundred Sonnets |  |
166
CAMBRIDGE.
Another of thy chiefs, O Israël,Gone to a good man's rest, and high reward,
As full of years as honours; it is well
Thus timely to be call'd to meet the Lord!
O Death,—how oft Britannia tolls the knell
For those she loves, a mother for her sons!
Yet is it seldom that her tongue can tell
More truly how she mourns her mighty ones,
Than now in honest sorrow fills her breast;
For he was worthy; full of kindliness,
A man of peace, and charity, and truth;
For ever doing good, and feeling blest
(Though nurtur'd as a warrior from his youth)
In finding what a joy it is to bless!
| Three Hundred Sonnets | |