Of purest joys hath given.
They do not—nay, they cannot die:
Because we see them not
Do objects cease—oh! brothers! why
This lesson now forgot?
They die not—nay, they cannot die:
In joy's serene, calm air,
Their cheek yet wears its roseate dye
Their smiles are yet as fair.
Their tones yet breathe as sweet a strain,