Robert Browning
The strongest singer of these latter days
Has left the turmoil of earth's busy throng,
But his rich voice is with us, and his song
Gladdens our hearts, and on our darkest ways
Throws gleam of living light. His steady praise
Of truth and right; his lesson firm and strong--
Our lives are not our own, that they belong
To God--is here to comfort and to raise.
Then, while we weep for him, our laurelled king,
Our hearts can truly say he is not dead;
Nay, more! He sleeps not, but with undimmed mind
Still works among us, still abides to bring
Balm to the bleeding hearts whence hope has fled,
Strength to the weak, light to the groping blind.
The strongest singer of these latter days
Has left the turmoil of earth's busy throng,
But his rich voice is with us, and his song
Gladdens our hearts, and on our darkest ways
Throws gleam of living light. His steady praise
Of truth and right; his lesson firm and strong--
Our lives are not our own, that they belong
To God--is here to comfort and to raise.
Then, while we weep for him, our laurelled king,
Our hearts can truly say he is not dead;
Nay, more! He sleeps not, but with undimmed mind
Still works among us, still abides to bring
Balm to the bleeding hearts whence hope has fled,
Strength to the weak, light to the groping blind.