THE TOMB.
175
Stand loose from all, thou lonely voyager
Unto the land of spirits.
Yea, even more!
Lay down thy body! Hast thou worshipped it
With vanity's sweet incense, and wild waste
Of precious time? Did beauty bring it gifts,
The lily brow, the full resplendent eye;
The tress, the bloom, the grace, whose magic power
Woke man's idolatry? Oh! lay it down,
Earth's reptile banqueters have need of it.
Still may'st thou bear o'er Jordan's stormy wave,
One blessed trophy; if thy life hath striven
By penitence and faith such boon to gain,
The victor palm of Christ's atoning love:
And this shall win thee entrance when thou stand'st
A pilgrim at Heaven's gate.
