So die, thou child of stormy dawn, <br />Thou winter flower, forlorn of nurse; <br />Chilled early by the bigot's curse, <br />The pedant's frown, the worldling's yawn. <br /> <br />Fair death, to fall in teeming June, <br />When every seed which drops to earth <br />Takes root, and wins a second birth <br />From steaming shower and gleaming moon. <br /> <br />Fall warm, fall fast, thou mellow rain; <br />Thou rain of God, make fat the land; <br />That roots which parch in burning sand <br />May bud to flower and fruit again. <br /> <br />To grace, perchance, a fairer morn <br />In mightier lands beyond the sea, <br />While honour falls to such as we <br />From hearts of heroes yet unborn, <br /> <br />Who in the light of fuller day, <br />Of purer science, holier laws, <br />Bless us, faint heralds of their cause, <br />Dim beacons of their glorious way. <br /> <br />Failure? While tide-floods rise and boil <br />Round cape and isle, in port and cove, <br />Resistless, star-led from above: <br />What though our tiny wave recoil?<br /><br />Charles Kingsley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-the-death-of-a-certain-journal/
