Inflate, yet check the pride of mighty men?
For, whilst they blaze in grand attire, the thought
Steals on,—This splendid robe once cloth’d a worm:
Type of our resurrection from the grave,
It dies within the tomb itself has spun,
That perishing abode, which is at once
Its house and tomb; in which it rots away,
Till at the call of time it gladly leaves
Corruption, and its ancient shape resumes.
A little remnant of its mould’ring flesh,