His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not like the quarry slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon; but, sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.”
| [7] | From Essays on Life, Sleep, Pain, etc., just published by Blanchard & Lea, Philadelphia. |