248

Poet! esteem thy noble part; still listen, still record,

To write some earnest verse or line, Which, seeking not the praise of art,

Ye whose hearts are beating high
With the pulse of poesy,
Heirs of more than royal race,
Framed by Heaven's peculiar grace
God's own work to do on earth,

(If the word be not too bold,) Giving virtue a new birth,

And a life that ne'er grows old; Sovereign masters of all hearts! Know ye who hath set your parts? He who gave you breath to sing, By whose strength ye sweep the string, He hath chosen you to lead

His hosannas here below;

Mount and claim your glorious meed,

Linger not with sin and woe.

Never did poesy appear

So full of heaven to me, as when

KEBLE.

fear

To the lives of coarsest men.

Are we henceforth prepared to follow in thy