Written In A Copy Of Poem by Henry Alford

Beloved, to whose wedded hand I trust
This treasure of sweet song, it is but meet
That thou shouldst know its value; that the gift
May have its honour, and the giver share
His meed of grateful love. No common price
Attends this wedding--gift; for blessed eyes
Have looked upon its pages; eyes whose light
Gladdened a circle of united hearts,
While yet they shone; and now that they are quenched
In the cold grave, they dwell upon our souls,
A memory that can never die, a power
That may not pass away. 'Twas not thy lot
To know and love him: let it be enough
That oft his lips pronounced thy name with love,
As one he fain would know, in happy days
Of youthful confidence and sacred joy.

He lived in love; and God, whose son he was,
Not willing that the spirit pure should pass
Into the dim and damping atmosphere
Of these our earthly haunts and scenes of care,
While yet the hills and skies and common sights
O'erflowed his soul with joy, and wondrous thoughts
Sprung burning in his heart, fetched him away
To the unwithering banks and deep--green glades
Where flows the River of Eternal Truth.

Be then by thee this gift as precious held
As is his memory by the giver; look
On every page with inly fervent heart;
Learn lessons of pure beauty, and to shun
Only the errors of the poet's creed,
Yielding free duty to his code of love.