"The golden sun,<br>The planets, all the infinite host of heaven<br>Are shining on the sad abodes of death<br>Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread<br>The globe are but a handful to the tribes<br>That slumber in its bosom.<br>So shall thou rest, - and what if thou shall fall<br>Unnoticed by the living, and no friend<br>Take note of thy departure? All that breathe<br>Will share thy destiny.<br>So live, that when thy summons comes to join<br>The innumerable caravan that moves<br>To the pale realms of shade, where each shall take<br>His chamber in the silent halls of death,<br>Thou go not like the quarry-slave at night,<br>Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed<br>By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave<br>Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch<br>About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams."