If death and not life were the portal
⁠That opens on life at the last,
If the spirit of Sidney were mortal
⁠And the past of it utterly past,
Fear stronger than honour was ever,
⁠Forgetfulness mightier than fame,
Faith knows not if England should never
⁠Subside into shame.

Yea, but yet is thy sun not set, thy sunbright spirit of
⁠trust withdrawn:
England's love of thee burns above all hopes that darken
⁠or fears that fawn:
Hers thou art: and the faithful heart that hopes begets
⁠upon darkness dawn.

The sunset that sunrise will follow
⁠Is less than the dream of a dream:
The starshine on height and on hollow
⁠Sheds promise that dawn shall redeem: