Longum illud tempus, quum non ero, magis me movet, quam hoc exigium.
-- CICERO, ad Att., xii. 18.
O may I join the choir invisibleOf those immortal dead who live againIn minds made better by their presence: liveIn pulses stirred to generosity,In deeds of daring rectitude, in scornFor miserable aims that end with self,In thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars,And with their mild persistence urge man's searchTo vaster issues.
So to live is heaven:To make undying music in the world,Breathing as beauteous order that controlsWith growing sway the growing life of man.So we inherit that sweet purityFor which we struggled, failed, and agonisedWith widening retrospect that bred despair.Rebellious flesh that would not be subdued,A vicious parent shaming still its childPoor anxious penitence, is quick dissolved;Its discords, quenched by meeting harmonies,Die in the large and charitable air.And all our rarer, better, truer self,That sobbed religiously in yearning song,That watched to ease the burthen of the world,Laboriously tracing what must be,And what may yet be better -- saw withinA worthier image for the sanctuary,And shaped it forth before the multitudeDivinely human, raising worship soTo higher reference more mixed with love --That better self shall live till human TimeShall fold its eyelids, and the human skyBe gathered like a scroll within the tombUnread for ever.
This is life to come,Which martyred men have made more gloriousFor us who strive to follow. May I reachThat purest heaven, be to other soulsThe cup of strength in some great agony,Enkindle generous ardour, feed pure love,Beget the smiles that have no cruelty --Be the sweet presence of a good diffused,And in diffusion ever more intense.So shall I join the choir invisibleWhose music is the gladness of the world.
