All hath been finished now;
And from the darkened brow
Of the grave the people move,
Pondering his own heart to prove,
Each unto his home.
While of the old dead's demesne
Hallowed fancies come,
Living and clear, urgent and fain,
As they visit in thought again
And again the place where remain
Their fathers, the sons of many ages,
Gathered from the ever-turning pages
Of the volume of time,
Like a long running rhyme--
Old age and youth,
Falsehood and truth,
Beauty and pride
Side unto side
In that old churchyard,
In the sacred guard
Of hallowed rest.
Then a behest
Moveth the breast
To be holy and meek,
Lowly to seek
Life unto life,
Bearing through strife
Unto the end,
Trying to blend
Love unto life.