BAYARD TAYLOR.
Call him not dead! there is no death!
Although the outward form may perish
And from our sight be hid. ’Tis not the form we cherish.
Earth well may spare the casket,
If the jewel it contains,
In its brilliancy and splendor, unbroken, still remains.
Thoughts, words and deeds outlive the fleeting breath!
Transcribed upon life’s page
They ever stand! a joyous, or a darksome heritage.