ECCLESIASTICAL SONNETS
V. WALTON’S BOOK OF LIVES
ECCLESIASTICAL SONNETS
THERE are no colours in the fairest sky So fair as these. The feather, whence the pen Was shaped that traced the lives of these good men, Dropped from an Angel’s wing. With moistened eye We read of faith and purest charity In Statesman, Priest, and humble Citizen: Oh could we copy their mild virtues, then What joy to live, what blessedness to die! Methinks their very names shine still and bright; Apart–like glow-worms on a summer night; 10 Or lonely tapers when from far they fling A guiding ray; or seen–like stars on high, Satellites burning in a lucid ring Around meek Walton’s heavenly memory.