450 
THE STAKE. 
Who, sad for his torn country, grief o’er-run, 
The words of milder counsel doth let fall), 
All that within it hath not the clear stamp 
Of time-defying greatness, with the lamp 
Hung up by error and by truth down-hurl’d, 
Shall change and pass away. But in that world, 
The world of unveil’d truth, where thine and thou, 
And all that honour, all that follow thee, 
Shall then be dwelling, O! will fate allow 
That the effacing wing of time and chance 
Sweep over the immutable ? the glance 
That looks along into eternity, 
By the angel torch of death illuminéd, 
Seeth it hope or promise to be read, 
Upon the awful front of destiny, 
Of alternation ? bringing to the soul, 
Lost in the vivid present, the controul 
Of action and occasion hurrying by, 
Forgetfulness of evil that doth lie 
Buried amid the records of the past, 
The page that, as it standeth, so shall last, 
Down in the hollow vaults of memory. 
Remember, oh! remember, thou and I 
Must hear another trumpet note sweep by, 
And stand together (not as now we are, 
But fellow suppliants) at another bar. 
I speak it not in anger, no! oh, no! 
My fellow creature, who in this strange scene, 
Where error and illusion reign unseen, 
Must dwell a brief space longer, and perchance 
May’st live to follow the fair heritance, 
And love the truth I die for, on thy head 
A pilgrim’s blessing fall! Gladly I go 
To tread the last and the least weary stage, 
The closing valley* of my pilgrimage, 
And never shall our footsteps cross below. 
The God who hither hath my lone way led, 
Whose face illumineth the night’s dark shore, 
Grant we may meet in his far Heaven once more ! 
Psalm xxiii. 
