That sleeps under the canopy；
‘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 penance on the road；
Something made these eyeballs weary
That blinked and saw them in a shroud.
‘Whatever stands in field or flood
Bird， beast， fish or man，
Mare or stallion， cock or hen，
Stands in God‘s unchanging eye
In all the vigour of its blood；
In that faith I live or die.‘