All at rest now—all dust!—wave flows on wave;
But the sea dries not!—what to us the grave?
It brings no real homily; we sigh,
Pause for awhile and murmur, “all must die!”
Then rush to pleasure, action, sin once more,
Swell the loud tide, and fret unto the shore.
Sir E. Bulwer Lytton.
Ah! it is sad when one thus link’d departs!
When Death, that mighty sev’rer of true hearts,
Sweeps through the halls so lately loud in mirth,