260 
LAY OP TIIE ROSE. 
“ Sit still upon your thrones, 
O ye poetic ones ! 
And if, sooth, the world decry you, 
Why, let that world pass by you ! 
“ Ye to yourselves suffice, 
Without its flatteries ; 
Self-contentedly approve you 
Unto Him who sits above you. 
“In prayers that upward mount, 
Like to a sunned fount, 
And, in gushing back upon you, 
Bring the music they have won you. 
“ In thanks for all the good 
By poets understood— 
For the sound of seraphs moving 
Through the hidden depths of loving ! 
“ For sights of things away, 
Through fissures of the clay,— 
Promised things, which shall be given 
And sung ever up in heaven ! 
