E'en to the pyx the Priest he followeth,
Nor can the Leech his chilling finger stay . .
There is no King more terrible than Death.
All things must bow to him. And woe betide
The Wine-bibber,-the Roisterer by night;
Him the feast-master, many bouts defied,
Him 'twixt the pledging and the cup shall smite;
Woe to the Lender at usurious rate,
The hard Rich Man, the hireling Advocate;
Woe to the Judge that selleth Law for pay;
Woe to the Thief that like a beast of prey
With creeping tread the traveller harryeth :-
These, in their sin, the sudden sword shall slay . .
There is no King more terrible than Death.
He hath no pity,-nor will be denied.
When the low hearth is garnished and bright,
Grimly he flingeth the dim portal wide,
And steals the Infant in the Mother's sight;
He hath no pity for the scorned of fate :-
He spares not Lazarus lying at the gate,
Nay, nor the Blind that stumbleth as he may;
Nay, the tired Ploughman, at the sinking ray,-
In the last furrow,-feels an icy breath,
And knows a hand hath turned the team astray.
There is no King more terrible than Death.
He hath no pity. For the new-made Bride,
Blithe with the promise of her life's delight,
That wanders gladly by her Husband's side,
He with the clatter of his drum doth fright,
He scares the Virgin at the convent grate;
The Maid half-won, the Lover passionate;
He hath no grace for weakness and decay:
The tender Wife, the Widow bent and gray,
The feeble Sire whose footstep faltereth,-
All these he leadeth by the lonely way . .
There is no King more terrible than Death.
YOUTH, for whose ear and monishing of late,
I sang of Prodigals and lost estate,
Have thou thy joy of living and be gay;
But know not less that there must come a day,Aye, and perchance e'en now it hasteneth,When thine own heart shall speak to thee and
There is no King more terrible than Death.
AND OTHER OCCASIONAL VERSES
[Written for Choral Songs in Honour of Queen Victoria, 1899, and set to music by Sir HUBERT PARRY.]
HO can dwell with greatness !
is too high;
Flowers are for the meadow, suns are for the
Ah! but there is greatness in this land of ours, High as is the sunlight, humble as the flowers!
QUEEN, of thee the fable! LADY, thine the fate! Royal, and yet lowly, lowly, and yet great;— Great in far dominion, great in bannered years, Greater still as woman, greatest in thy tears!
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