I toll myself the requiem for the dead."
'Tis to this Church I call thee, and that place
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Where slept our fathers, when they'd run their race.
We too shall rest, and then our children keep
Their road in life, and then, forgotten, sleep;
Meanwhile the building slowly falls away,
And, like the builders, will in time decay.
The old foundation—but it is not clear
When it was laid—you care not for the year: