Classic Poem

That last exulting strain — how soft and clear,
Its cadence fell upon the ravish'd ear,
Speaking of Faith, and Love, and rapture high,
Tuning the soul to heavenly symphony:
Though racked with pain, behold the victor still,
And list the blessed lay he sings with sweetest thrill.

Around the couch of anguish and unrest,
Dissolved in grief his priestly children prest,
" Sons in the Faith, " they wailed their mighty loss,
The loss of thee, tried champion of the Cross,
Of thee, who ever foremost in the van,
Had battled for the Church since first thy course began.

Before the mystic elements were given,
Which nerved thy soul so soon to pass to Heaven,
Arose thy Hymn, as Nature loosed her strings,
And o'er thy brow stole Death's dread shadowings,
As if to antedate the richer song,
Which swell, in realms afar, the beauteous ransomed throng.

Blest triumph this of Faith in darkest hour;
No fears to shake — no doubts to overpower,
A stream of radiance from the fount of love,
Baptized thy Spirit as it rose above.
The lustrous crown had caught that kindling eye,
And H OBART passed in song, immortal to the sky.