And fear to sorrow with increase of grief, When they who go before Go furnished--or because their span was brief, When in the acquist of what is life’s true gage, Truth, knowledge, and that other worthiest lore, They had fulfilled already a long age. For doubt not but that in the worlds above There must be other offices of love, That other tasks and ministries there are, Since it is promised that His servants, there Shall serve him still. Therefore be strong, be strong, Ye that remain, nor fruitlessly revolve, Darkling, the riddles which ye cannot solve, But do the works that unto you belong, Believing that for every mystery, For all the death the darkness and the curse Of this dim universe, Needs a solution full of love must be: And that the way whereby ye may attain Nearest to this, is not thro’ broodings vain And half-rebellious--questionings of God, But by a patient seeking to fulfil The purpose of his everlasting will, Treading the way which lowly men have trod. Since it is ever they who are too proud For this, that are the foremost and most loud To judge his hidden judgments, these are still The most perplexed and mazed at his mysterious will.”
When I have sometimes read of precious things, The precious things of earth, which yet are vile, Together heaped into the graves of kings, Or wasted with them on their funeral pile, Steeds arms and costly vestments and the dross Which men call gold, feeding one ravenous pyre, I have been little moved at all the loss Of all the treasure which fond men admire. But when I hear of some too early doom, Snatching wit wisdom valour grace away, Or our own loss has taught me what the tomb May cover from us, then I feel and say That earth has things whereon the grave may feed, And feeding may make poor the world indeed.
What is the greatness of a fallen king? This--that his fall avails not to abate His spirit to a level with his fate, Or inward fall along with it to bring; That he disdains to stoop his former wing, But keeps in exile and in want the law Of kingship yet, and counts it scorn to draw Comfort indign from any meaner thing. Soul, that art fallen from thine ancient place, Mayest thou in this mean world find nothing great, Nor aught that shall the memories efface Of that true greatness which was once thine own, As knowing thou must keep thy kingly state, If thou wouldst reascend thy kingly throne.