Written on Commemoration Sunday, Corpus Christi College, Oxford

We praise, we praise the immortal dead, Who strove beneath unheeding skies For truth that raised the drooping head, For light that gladdened weary eyes:

The martyr's cross, the warrior's sword, How should they be of lesser worth Than some unprofitable hoard In ancient mines below the earth?

The song that one alone has sung, The great uncompromising page, Are these but glittering baubles, flung About the world from age to age?

But ruin'd columns, wondrous tall, Built in old time with labour sore, The mighty deeds done once for all, The voice heard once, and heard no more?

Rather they shine as doth the star About the close of winter's day, That cheers the traveller afar And draws him on, and points the way.

We praise, we praise the immortal dead. Do they not verily wait till we Of the spoilt years unharvested Be also of their company?