In Memory, I

Under the clear December sun, Perishing and cold, Sleep, Malise! who hast early won Light of sacred gold. Sleep, be at rest: we still will keep Dear love for thee lain down to sleep.

Youth, loving faces, holy toil, These death takes from thee: But of our love, none shall despoil Thy fair soul set free. The labours of thy love are done: Thy labour's crown of love is won.

Sleep, Malise! While the winds blow yet Over thy quiet grave: We, labouring deathward, will forget Thee never: wherefore have Hope, and pure patience: we, too, come Presently to thee, in thine home.