If sin be punished, or be purged away,
Then sin's remembrance must survive this earth;
Or be a judgment vague, of little worth,
And show no just probation of the clay.
If virtue's dues stand not in clear array
Beside the cradle of our heavenly birth,
Then were the scheme a mark for scornful mirth,
And life terrene a useless holiday.
Trust me, that every passion, thought, and deed
Follows the spirit to its last abode,
And bears a wholesome or a noxious weed.
So shall my memory keep the gracious meed
Of all our history; and what here we sowed
Shall bloom in heaven, a flower for every seed.