Poems (David)/On the Death of Gilbert, Bishop of Chichester

by Edith Mary David

ON THE DEATH OF GILBERT, BISHOP OF CHICHESTER, WHO CONFIRMED ME.

COME home, dear patriarch, a gentle voice did cry,
 Come home, to realms of purer bliss;—
Lay all thy poor frail mortal garments by,
 To seek a holier world than this.

There is a land of light beyond so fair,
 A city mortal hand ne'er framed;
The Lamb of God in glory ruleth there,
 And heaven's whole host adore His name!

Come home, dear patriarch, why should'st thou wait?
 Thy Father's house hath room for thee:
Thou art His child, all cares of future fate
 From thee His grace can free!

He calls for thee by ancient Jordan's stream,
 Amidst the grey and wintry morn;
Lo! by that deed which sinful earth redeem'd,
 He grants thee life for evermore!

Thou heard'st a voice so low and sweet,
 Ye rose at morn to meet thy Lord:
In hope thou laid'st before His wounded feet
 The varied fruits thy spirit bore!

For evermore thy gentle voice shall join
 In saints' and angels' holy lay:—
Yes! with unwearied frame thy willing tongue
 Shall bless the Lord thro' endless day!

Oh! thou hast left a noble name behind,
 To cheer us on our onward way;
Shining on men thro' fast and waning time,
 To light us on to purer day!

All honour to thee, whose hand did know
 The surest balance e'er to keep:—
Alike thy dearest friends and e'en thy foes,
 O'er Gilbert's honour'd grave shall weep!