For hither we gather, as far as is permitted us, and hither we gather proudly, the mortal dust of every noble soul who has done good work for the British nation; accepting each and all of them as gifts from the Father of lights, from whom proceedeth every good and perfect gift, as sent to this nation by that Lord Jesus Christ who is the King of all the nations upon earth; and acknowledging—­for fear of falling into that Pelagian heresy, which is too near the heart of every living man—­that all wise words which they have spoken, all noble deeds which they have done, have come, must have come, from The One eternal source of wisdom, of nobleness, of every form of good; even from the Holy Spirit of God.

We make no severe or minute inquiries here.  We leave them, if they must be made, to God the Judge of all things, and Christ who knows the secrets of the hearts; to Him who is merciful in this:  that He rewardeth every man according to his works.

All we ask is—­and all we dare ask—­of divine or statesman, poet or warrior, musician or engineer—­of Dryden or of Handel—­of Isaac Watts or of Charles Dickens—­but why go on with the splendid diversities of the splendid catalogue?—­What was your work?  Did we admire you for it?  Did we love you for it?  And why?  Because you made us in some way or other better men.  Because you helped us somewhat toward whatsoever things are pure, true, just, honourable, of good report.  Because, if there was any virtue—­that is, true valour and manhood; if there was any praise—­that is, just honour in the sight of men, and therefore surely in the sight of the Son of man, who died for men; you helped us to think on such things.  You, in one word, helped to make us better men.

Welcome then, friends unknown—­and, alas! friends known, and loved, and lost—­welcome into England’s Pantheon, not of superstitious and selfish hysteria, but of beneficent and healthy manhood.

Your words and your achievements have gone out into all lands, and your sound unto the ends of the world; and let them go, and prosper in that for which the Lord of man has sent them.  Our duty is, to guard your sacred dust.  Our duty is, to point out your busts, your monuments around these ancient walls, to all who come, of every race and creed; as proofs that the ancient spirit is not dead; that Christ has not deserted the nation of England, while He sends into it such men as you; that Christ has not deserted the Church of England, while He gives her grace to recognize and honour such men as you, and to pray Christ that He would keep up the sacred succession of virtue, talent, beneficence, patriotism; and make us, most unworthy, at last worthy, one at least here and there, of the noble dead, above whose dust we now serve God.

Yes, so ought we in Westminster to keep our All Saints’ Day; in giving thanks to God for the spirits of just men made perfect.  Not only for those just men and women innumerable, who—­as I said at first—­have graced this earth during the long ages of the past:  but specially for those who lie around us here; with whom we can enter, and have entered already, often, into spiritual communion closer than that, almost, of child with parent; whose writings we can read, whose deeds we can admire, whose virtues we can copy, and to whom we owe a debt of gratitude, we and our children after us, which never can be repaid.