THE DEATH-BED OF THE POOR !
"Tread softly-bow the head-
In reverent silence bow;
No passing bell doth toll-
Yet an immortal soul
is passing now.
Stranger! however great,
With lowly reverence bow;
There's one in that poor shed-
One on that paltry bed-
Greater than thou.
Beneath that beggar's roof,
Lo! Death doth keep his state.
Enter-no crowd attend;
Enter-no guards defend
This palace gate.
That pavement, damp and cold,
no smiling courtiers tread;
One silent woman stands-
Lifting with meagre hands
A dying head.
No mingling voices sound-
And infant wail alone;
A sob suppressed-again
That short, deep gasp, and then
The parting groan.
Oh, change!-oh, wondrous change!-
Burst are the prison bars;
This moment there, so low,
So agonized; and now
Beyond the stars.
Oh change!-stupendous change!
There lies the soulless clod.
The sun eternal breaks-
The new immortal wakes-
Wakes with his God."