Classic Poem

If Wrong by force had Justice put to flight,
Yet were there hope she might return again;
If lawless war had shut her up from sight,
Yet lawful peace might soon restore her train.
But now, alas, what hope of hope is left,
When wrongful Death hath her of life bereft?

The Sun, that often falls, doth often rise;
The Moon, that waneth, waxeth full with light;
But he, that death in chains of darkness ties,
Can never break the bands of lasting night.
What then remains but tears of loss to wail,
In which all hope of mortal help doth fail?

Who then shall weep, nay who shall tears refrain,
If common harms must move the minds of all?
Too few are found, that wrongful hearts restrain,
And of too few, too many Death doth call.
These common harms I wail among the rest,
But private loss denies to be exprest.