Earth’s transitory things decay,
Its pomps, its pleasures pass away;
But the sweet memory of the good
Survives in the vicissitude.
As ’midst the ever rolling sea,
The eternal isles established be,
’Gainst which the surges of the main
Fret, dash, and break themselves in vain—
As in the heavens, the urns divine,
Of golden light, for ever shine;
Though clouds may darken, storms may rage,
They still shine on from age to age—
So through the ocean tide of years,
The memory of the just appears;
So through the tempest and the gloom,
The good man’s virtues light the tomb.
Happy the righteous! come what may,
Though Heaven dissolve and earth decay;
Happy the righteous man! for he
Belongs to immortality.