Earth helped him with the cry of blood.
To the solid ground Of nature trusts the Mind that builds for aye.
We will grieve not, rather find strength in what remains behind.
Turning, for them who pass, the common dust Of servile opportunity to gold.
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain That has been, and may be again.
Sweet Mercy! to the gates of heaven This minstrel lead, his sins forgiven; The rueful conflict, the heart riven With vain endeavour, And memory of Earth's bitter leaven Effaced forever.