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.