Nor heed the shaft too surely cast, The foul and hissing bolt of scorn; For with thy side shall dwell, at last, The victory of endurance born

Another hand thy sword shall wield,Another hand the standard wave,Till from the trumpet's mouth is pealedThe blast of triumph o'er thy grave.

Surely the righteous shall give thanks unto thy name: the upright shall dwell in thy presence.

He who, from zone to zone,Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight,In the long way that I must tread alone,Will lead my steps aright.

How shall I know thee in the sphere which keepsThe disembodied spirits of the dead,When all of thee that time could wither sleepsAnd perishes among the dust we tread?

For this, be sure, tonight thou shalt have cramps, side-stitches that shall pen thy breath up