The fanes of Fear and Falsehood hear no more 500
The voice that once waked multitudes to war
Thundering thro’ all their aisles:  but now respond
To the death dirge of the melancholy wind: 
It were a sight of awfulness to see
The works of faith and slavery, so vast, 505
So sumptuous, yet withal so perishing! 
Even as the corpse that rests beneath their wall. 
A thousand mourners deck the pomp of death
To-day, the breathing marble glows above
To decorate its memory, and tongues 510
Are busy of its life:  to-morrow, worms
In silence and in darkness seize their prey. 
These ruins soon leave not a wreck behind: 
Their elements, wide-scattered o’er the globe,
To happier shapes are moulded, and become 515
Ministrant to all blissful impulses: 
Thus human things are perfected, and earth,
Even as a child beneath its mother’s love,
Is strengthened in all excellence, and grows
Fairer and nobler with each passing year. 520

Now Time his dusky pennons o’er the scene
Closes in steadfast darkness, and the past
Fades from our charmed sight.  My task is done: 
Thy lore is learned.  Earth’s wonders are thine own,
With all the fear and all the hope they bring. 525
My spells are past:  the present now recurs. 
Ah me! a pathless wilderness remains
Yet unsubdued by man’s reclaiming hand.

Yet, human Spirit, bravely hold thy course,
Let virtue teach thee firmly to pursue 530
The gradual paths of an aspiring change: 
For birth and life and death, and that strange state
Before the naked powers that thro’ the world
Wander like winds have found a human home,
All tend to perfect happiness, and urge 535
The restless wheels of being on their way,
Whose flashing spokes, instinct with infinite life,
Bicker and burn to gain their destined goal: 
For birth but wakes the universal mind
Whose mighty streams might else in silence flow 540
Thro’ the vast world, to individual sense
Of outward shows, whose unexperienced shape
New modes of passion to its frame may lend;
Life is its state of action, and the store
Of all events is aggregated there 545
That variegate the eternal universe;
Death is a gate of dreariness and gloom,
That leads to azure isles and beaming skies
And happy regions of eternal hope. 
Therefore, O Spirit! fearlessly bear on:  550
Though storms may break the primrose on its stalk,
Though frosts may blight the freshness of its bloom,
Yet spring’s awakening breath will woo the earth,
To feed with kindliest dews its favourite flower,
That blooms in mossy banks and darksome glens, 555
Lighting the green wood with its sunny smile.