AMONG THE DEAD

My days among the dead are passed;
Around me I behold,

Where'er these casual eyes are cast,
The mighty minds of old;
My never-failing friends are they,
With whom I converse day by day.

With them I take delight in weal,
And seek relief in woe;
And while I understand and feel
How much to them I owe,

My cheeks have often been bedewed
With tears of thoughtful gratitude.

My thoughts are with the dead; with them
I live in long past years,

Their virtues love, their faults condemn,
Partake their hopes and fears,

And from their lessons seek and find

Instruction with an humble mind.

1

AMONG THE DEAD

My hopes are with the dead; anon
My place with them will be,
And I with them will travel on
Through all Futurity;

Yet leaving here a name, I trust,
That will not perish in the dust.

Robert Southey.

"YES, I SHALL SLEEP"

YES, I shall sleep! Some sunny day, When blossoms in the wind are dancing, And children at their cheerful play

Heed not the mournful crowd advancing, Up through the long and busy street, They'll bear me to my last retreat.

Or else it matters not-may rave

The storm, and sleet, and wintry weather Above the bleak and new-made grave, Where care and I lie down together.

Enough that I shall know it not,
Beneath, in that dark, narrow spot.

For I shall sleep! As sweet a sleep
As ever graced a babe reposing
Awaits me in the cell so deep,

Where I, my weary eyelids closing,
At length shall lay me down to rest,
Heedless of clods above my breast.

Asleep! how still this pulse will lie,

Rid of life's throb that beats so wildly! How calm will be this restless eye,

Erst bright with tears, now closed so mildly! For not one dream of earth will come

To haunt the quiet of that home!

Oh, sweet repose! Oh, slumber blest!
Oh, night of peace -no storm, no sorrow-
No heavy stirring in my rest,

To meet another weary morrow!

I shall not note or night or dawn,
But still, with folded hands, sleep on.

Sleep on, though just above my head
Scowl sin and misery's haggard faces-
For the dull slumber of the dead

All sense of human woe erases;
Palsies the heart and cures the brain

Of every fever-throb of pain.

Armies above my rest may tramp—-
'T will not disturb one rigid muscle;

"YES, I SHALL SLEEP"

I should not heed their iron stamp

More than a leaf's complaining rustle; Nay, were the world convened to break My leaden sleep, I should not wake.

And yet, methinks, if steps of those

I've known and loved on earth were round

me,

'T would tame the might of my repose,

Shiver the iron cords that bound me-
Save that I know this could not be,
For death disowns all sympathy.

Well, be it so; since I should yearn,
And weep, and watch for their appearing-
Chiding each ling'ring, late return,

Forever sad, forever fearing

Living life's drama o'er again,
Its tragedy of hope and pain.

Then weep not, friends, what time ye lay
The warm, moist earth above my ashes;

Think what a rest awaits my clay,

And smooth the mound with tearless lashes