How thin the veil between our eyes
And angel wings in motion!
How narrow the long ledge that lies
‘Twixt us and death’s dim ocean!
They rode by sunlit copse and glen,
And ‘neath the woodland’s shadow
They spurn’d, with hoofs that rang again,
The cruel sloping meadow.
A plunge-a fall-and lo! the rock,
The veil was rent asunder.
How swift the change, how sharp the shock,
How bright the waking yonder!
Old England heard it with a start;
She mourns with voice uplifted:
Mother of many a noble heart,
But ah! what son so gifted?
From his own Oxford’s storied hall,
Her stream by light oars ruffled,
To where, beside the plane-trees tall,
His Winton’s bells are muffled,
The whole land has an air of grief
For that great wealth departed-
Her peerless prelate, statesman, chief,
Large-soul’d and gentle-hearted;
The man so eloquent of word,
Who sway’d all spirits near him,
Who did but touch the silver chord,
And men perforce must hear him;
Who won rude natures at his will,
And charm’d them with the glamour
Of his sweet tongue, and kept them still
Forgetful of their clamour;
Who from no task for Christ soe’er,
True soldier, sought indulgence,-
To him it wore so grand an air,
Was lit with such effulgence;
Who sweetly smiled, and deftly plann’d,
And his true work to fashion,
Like hammers in a skilful hand,
Took every party’s passion;
Whom men call’d subtle overmuch
Because all threads of beauty
He interwork’d with magic touch
Into the web of Duty,
And from their hundred varying dyes
Wove well a wondrous colour,
That might have pleased malignant eyes
More, if it had been duller;
He for whom many hearts are sore,
Lost to so many places-
The great cathedral’s crowded floor
A hush of upturn’d faces,-
The village church, where children knelt
Beneath his hands o’ershading,
And rugged men sweet comfort felt
Or tender true upbraiding,-
The Senate, barren evermore
Of the rich voice that stirr’d it,-
The platform, where the charm is o’er
That spellbound all who heard it.
How many a noble deed he plann’d!
How many a soul he guided,
With sympathy of heart and hand,
And feelings many-sided!
And when the social lists were lit,
And worthy foemen tilted,
How flash’d the poignard of his wit,
Keen-bladed, diamond-hilted.
Sleep calm in earth, a Bishop robed,
Waiting God’s golden morrow.
O memory, leave the wound unprobed,
Nor bring too sharp a sorrow!
Let love draw near, and hope and faith,
Where the good saint lies sleeping;
His white face beautiful in death,
His soul in Christ’s own keeping.
(Archbishop William Alexander)
More Poetry from Archbishop William Alexander:
Archbishop William Alexander Poems based on Topics: Faces, Man, Sadness, Soul, Beauty, Death & Dying, Jesus Christ, Silver, Christianity, Belief & Faith, Money & Wealth- The Waters of Babylon (Archbishop William Alexander Poems)
- The Finding Of The Book (Archbishop William Alexander Poems)
- The Old Man And The Ship (Archbishop William Alexander Poems)
- The Rose Of The Infata (Archbishop William Alexander Poems)
- Music Or Words? (Archbishop William Alexander Poems)
- Death Of Archbishop Malachy (Archbishop William Alexander Poems)
Readers Who Like This Poem Also Like:
Based on Topics: Man Poems, Sadness Poems, Death & Dying Poems, Soul Poems, Faces Poems, Christianity Poems, Beauty Poems, Sleep Poems, Money & Wealth Poems, Belief & Faith Poems, Jesus Christ PoemsBased on Keywords: effulgence, plann, upbraiding, prelate, upturn, spellbound, gentle-hearted, plane-trees, poignard, many-sided, fall-and