Dead He Is Not, But Departed, For

A Sermon Is No Sermon In Which I Cannot Hear The Heartbeat.

Some Must Follow And Some Command, Through All Are Made Oclay.

The Smoking Flax Before It Burst To Flame Was Quenched By Death, And Broken The Bruised Reed.

One, If By Land, And Two, If By Sea; And I On The Opposite Shore Will Be, Ready To Ride And Spread The Alarm Through Every Middlesex Village And Farm For The Country Folk To Be Up And To Arm.

I Heard The Trailing Garments Of The Night Sweep Through Her Marble Halls! I Saw Her Sable Skirts All Fringed With Light From The Celestial Walls! I Felt Her Presence, By Its Spell Of Might, Stoop O'er Me From Above; The Calm, Majestic Presence Of The Night, As Of The One I Love.