Here let my bones with earth be blended,
Till sounds the trumpet of the blest.
For here, in common home, are mingled
Their dust, whom fame or fortune singled;
And those whom fortune, fame passed by,
All mingled, and all mouldering;—folly
And wisdom, mirth and melancholy,
Slaves, tyrants,—all mixt carelessly.
List! ’Tis the voice of time,—Creation’s
Unmeasured arch repeats the tone;