Poems (David)/On the Death of Gilbert, Bishop of Chichester
ON THE DEATH OF GILBERT, BISHOP OF CHICHESTER, WHO CONFIRMED ME.
COME home, dear patriarch, a gentle voice did cry, Come home, to realms of purer bliss;—Lay all thy poor frail mortal garments by, To seek a holier world than this.
There is a land of light beyond so fair, A city mortal hand ne'er framed;The Lamb of God in glory ruleth there, And heaven's whole host adore His name!
Come home, dear patriarch, why should'st thou wait? Thy Father's house hath room for thee:Thou art His child, all cares of future fate From thee His grace can free!
He calls for thee by ancient Jordan's stream, Amidst the grey and wintry morn;Lo! by that deed which sinful earth redeem'd, He grants thee life for evermore!
Thou heard'st a voice so low and sweet, Ye rose at morn to meet thy Lord:In hope thou laid'st before His wounded feet The varied fruits thy spirit bore!
For evermore thy gentle voice shall join In saints' and angels' holy lay:—Yes! with unwearied frame thy willing tongue Shall bless the Lord thro' endless day!
Oh! thou hast left a noble name behind, To cheer us on our onward way;Shining on men thro' fast and waning time, To light us on to purer day!
All honour to thee, whose hand did know The surest balance e'er to keep:—Alike thy dearest friends and e'en thy foes, O'er Gilbert's honour'd grave shall weep!