The good, the great, the wise, the just,

Are little valued till they’re dust,

Nor till they mutter “Earth to earth,”

Can men perceive another’s worth.

C. C. Colton.

What though the mounds that mark’d each name,

Beneath the wings of Time,

Have worn away?—Theirs is the fame

Immortal and sublime;

For who can tread on Freedom’s plain,