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Milton! thou
shouldst be living at this hour;
England hath need of
thee: she is a fen
Of stagnant waters: altar, sword,
and pen,
Fireside, the heroic wealth of hall and
bower,
Have forfeited their ancient English dower
Of inward happiness. We are selfish men;
Oh! raise us
up, return to us again;
And give us manners, virtue,
freedom, power.
Thy soul was like a Star, and dwelt
apart;
Thou hadst a voice whose sound was like the
sea:
Pure as the naked heavens, majestic, free,
So
didst thou travel on life's common way,
In cheerful
godliness; and yet thy heart
The lowliest duties on
herself did lay.
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