That sleeps under the canopy¹；

    ‘What change has put my thoughts astray

    And eyes that had so keen a sight？

    What has turned to smoking wick

    Nature‘s pure unchanging light？

    ‘Huddon and Duddon and Daniel O’Leary，

    Holy Joe， the beggar-man，

    Wenching， drinking， still remain

    Or sing a penance² on the road；

    Something made these eyeballs weary

    That blinked and saw them in a shroud³.

    ‘Whatever stands in field or flood

    Bird， beast， fish or man，

    Mare⁴ or stallion， cock or hen，

    Stands in God‘s unchanging eye

    In all the vigour⁵ of its blood；

    In that faith I live or die.‘