Nor ever slept they in an earthly bed
So sound as now they sleep, while dreamless laid
In the dark chambers of the unknown shore,
Where Night and Silence guard each sealed door.
So, turn from such as these thy drooping head,
And mourn the Dead Alive—whose spirit flies—
Whose life departs, before his death has come;
Who knows no Heaven beneath Life's gloomy skies,
Who sees no Hope to brighten up that gloom,—
'Tis He who feels the worm that never dies,—