Henry Alford

The Ancient Man.

There is an ancient man who dwells Without our parish--bounds, Beyond the poplar--avenue, Across two meadow--grounds; And whensoe'er our two small bells To church call merrily, Leaning upon our churchyard gate This old man ye may see. He is a man of many thoughts, That long have found their rest, Each in its proper dwelling--place Settled within his breast: A form erect, a stately brow, A set and measured mien: The satisfied unroving look Of one who much hath seen. And once, when young in care of souls, I watched a sick man's bed, And willing half, and half ashamed, Lingered, and nothing said: That ancient man, in accents mild, Removed my shame away: ``Listen!'' he said; ``the minister Prepares to kneel and pray. '' These lines of humble thankfulness Will never meet his eye; Unknown that old man means to live, And unremembered die. The forms of life have severed us: But when that life shall end, Fain would I hail that reverend man A father and a friend.