Otway

Poet, whose lays our memory still Back from the past is bringing, Whose sweetest songs were in thy life And never in thy singing; For chords thy hand had scarcely touched By death were rudely broken, And poems, trembling on thy lip, Alas! were never spoken. We say thy words of hope and cheer When hope of ours would languish, And keep them always in our hearts For comfort in our anguish. Yet not for thee we mourn as those Who feel by God forsaken; We would rejoice that thou wert tent, Nor weep that thou wert taken. For thou didst lead us up from earth To walk in fields elysian, And show to us the heavenly shore In many a raptured vision. Thy faith was strong from earth’s last trial The spirit to deliver, And throw a golden bridge across Death’s dark and silent river; A bridge, where fearless thou didst pass The stern and awful warder, And enter with triumphant songs Upon the heavenly border. Oh for a harp like thine to sing The songs that are immortal; Oh for a faith like thine to cross The everlasting portal! Then might we tell to all the world Redemption’s wondrous story; Go down to death as thou didst go, And up from death to glory.