The Side Windows: Dionysius of Alexandria

Tho' thy sweet eloquent spirit knew no chains
In thought's o'erflowing store,
Lost are thy letter'd toils,— scarce aught remains, —
Lost on Oblivion's shore !
Yet not all lost ; but laid upon His breast
In whom they have their origin and end.
Part He conceals, and part makes manifest,
Each as may best to His good purpose tend.
It matters not, — for we must soon be gone,
And things of earth most cherish'd, are like hues
Of sun-set, fading from us one by one,
Tho' heavenly rays a passing grace infuse ;
Till ours and our own selves we in His Being lose.