My fairest child, I have no song to give you;
No lark could pipe to skies so dull and grey;
Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave you
For every day.
Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever;
Do noble things, not dream them, all day long;
And so make life, death, and that vast for-ever
One grand, sweet song.
Surely these last, who have not accepted tradition in the mass, who
believe that we must, as our Lord demanded of the Jews, of our own selves
judge what is right, because therein his spirit works with our
spirit,--worship the Truth not less devotedly than they who rejoice in
holy tyranny over their intellects.