Thomas Humphry Ward, ed. The English Poets. 1880–1918.rnVol. IV. The Nineteenth Century: Wordsworth to Rossetti

Samuel Rogers (1763–1855)

Extract from Human Life

WHEN by a good man’s grave I muse alone,

Methinks an Angel sits upon the stone,

Like those of old, on that thrice-hallowed night,

Who sate and watched in raiment heavenly bright,

And, with a voice inspiring joy not fear,

Says, pointing upward, ‘Know, He is not here;

He is risen!’
But the day is almost spent;

And stars are kindling in the firmament,

To us how silent—though like ours perchance

Busy and full of life and circumstance;

Where some the paths of Wealth and Power pursue,

Of Pleasure some, of Happiness a few;

And, as the sun goes round—a sun not ours—

While from her lap another Nature showers

Gifts of her own, some from the crowd retire,

Think on themselves, within, without inquire;

At distance dwell on all that passes there,

All that their world reveals of good and fair;

And, as they wander, picturing things, like me,

Not as they are but as they ought to be,

Trace out the journey through their little day,

And fondly dream an idle hour away.