But in the grave no sparks of envy live,
No hot comparisons that causes give
Of quarrel, or that our affections move
Any condition, save their own, to love.
There are no objects there but shades and night,
40And yet that darkness better than the light.
There lives a silent harmony; no jar
Or discord can that sweet soft consort mar.
The grave's deaf ear is clos'd against all noise
Save that which rocks must hear, the angel's voice: