Excerpt from Four Great Questions Regarding the Future Life
No moaning of the bar; sail forth, strong ship,
Into that gloom which has God's face for a far light.
Not a dirge, but a proud farewell from each fond lip,
And praise, abounding praise, and fame's faint star light.
Lamping thy tuneful soul to that large noon
Where thou shalt choir with angels. Words of woe
Are for the unfulfilled, not thee, whose moon
Of genius sinks full-orbed, glorious, aglow.
No moaning of the bar; musical drifting
Of Time's waves, turning to the eternal sea,
Death's soft wind all thy gallant canvas lifting,
And Christ thy Pilot to the peace to be.
- Sir Edwin Arnold, on The Death of Tennyson.
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