What sought they thus afar? Bright jewels of the mine, The wealth of seas, the spoils of war? They sought a faith's pure shrine.
Leaves have their time to fall, And flowers to wither at the north-wind's breath, And stars to set; but all, Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death!
They grew in beauty side by side, They filled one home with glee: Their graves are severed far and wide By mount and stream and sea.
The stately Homes of England, How beautiful they stand! Amidst their tall ancestral trees, O'er all the pleasant land.
But fair the exil'd Palm-tree grew Midst foliage of no kindred hue; Through the laburnum's dropping gold Rose the light shaft of Orient mould, And Europe's violets, faintly sweet, Purpled the mossbeds at its feet.
Alas for love, if thou wert all, And naught beyond, O Earth!
Calm on the bosom of thy God, Fair spirit, rest thee now!
Come to the sunset tree! The day is past and gone; The woodman's axe lies free, And the reaper's work is done.
In the busy haunts of men.