Robert Silliman Hillyer - "Poor faltering lines, my weary soul's relief" lyrics

Poor faltering lines, my weary soul's relief, The balm of pa**ion, opiate of pain. A mightier hand than mine, a mightier brain, Had wrought in you an immemorial grief. But though my love and art both prove in vain, Wither and die with me, I had as lief That it were so; respite however brief Is all-sufficient to the living-slain. For separate voices sink at eventide, And none survives the creeping hush of time, Nought lives but life; the fame of them that died Brings back no vestige of their lovely prime, Fame and oblivion shall merge again In nameless loves and laughter, tears and pain.