DEATH.
"Death, thou art infinite!"
"All that live must die,
Passing through nature to Eternity."
Now we chant a miserere which proclaims the end of man—
Telling, in prophetic language, "Life," at best, "is but a span!"
Scarcely treading, slowly enter, reverently bend the knee—
List the Spirit's inward whisper, and from worldly thoughts be free.
Here we view a weary pilgrim, cradled in a dreamless sleep;
Human sounds no more shall reach her, for its spell is "long and deep!"
Gaze upon the marble features! Mark how peacefully they rest!
Anguished thought, and sorrow's heavings, all are parted from that breast!
Soon on mother earth reposing, this cold form shall calmly lie,
Till, by God's dread trump awakened, it shall mount to realms on high.