The body of this death will melt away,
And I shall know as I am known;
Know thee my father, every hour and day,
As thou know'st me thine own!

THIS INFANT WORLD

(From A Memorial of Africa)

This infant world has taken long to make, Nor hast Thou done with it, but mak'st it yet,

And wilt be working on when death has

set

A new mound in some churchyard for my sake.

On flow the centuries without a break: Uprise the mountains, ages without let; The lichens suck; the hard rock's breast they fret:

Years more than past, the young earth yet will take.

But in the dumbness of the rolling time,

No veil of silence shall encompass me — 10 Thou wilt not once forget and let me be: Rather wouldst thou some old chaotic prime

Invade, and, moved by tenderness sublime, Unfold a world, that I, thy child, might

O Earth, lie heavily upon her eyes;

Seal her sweet eyes weary of watching, Earth:

Lie close around her; leave no room for mirth

With its harsh laughter, nor for sound of sighs.

She hath no questions, she hath no replies,

5

Hushed in and curtained with a blessèd dearth

Of all that irked her from the hour of

birth;

or plough a thun