Thanatopsis

15To Nature's teachings, while from all around-

16Earth and her waters, and the depths of air-

17Comes a still voice-Yet a few days, and thee

18The all-beholding sun shall see no more

19In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground,

20Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears,

21Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist

22Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim

23Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again,

24And, lost each human trace, surrendering up

25Thine individual being, shalt thou go

26To mix for ever with the elements,

27To be a brother to the insensible rock

28And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain

29Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak

30Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould.

31Yet not to thine eternal resting-place

32Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish

33Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down

34With patriarchs of the infant world—with kings,

35The powerful of the earth-the wise, the good,

36Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,

37All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills

38Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun,—the vales

39Stretching in pensive quietness between;

40The venerable woods-rivers that move

41In majesty, and the complaining brooks

42That make the meadows green; and, poured round all,

43Old Ocean's gray and melancholy waste,

44Are but the solemn decorations all

45Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun,

46The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,

47Are shining on the sad abodes of death,

48Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread

49The globe are but a handful to the tribes

50That slumber in its bosom.—Take the wings

51Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness,

52Or lose thyself in the continuous woods

53Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound,

54Save his own dashings—yet the dead are there:

55And millions in those solitudes, since first

56The flight of years began, have laid them down

57In their last sleep-the dead reign there alone.

58So shalt thou rest, and what if thou withdraw

59In silence from the living, and no friend

60Take note of thy departure? All that breathe

61Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh

62When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care

63Plod on, and cach one as before will chase

64His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave

65Their mirth and their employments, and shall come

66And make their bed with thee. As the long train

67Of ages glide away, the sons of men,

68The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes

69In the full strength of years, matron and maid,

70The speechless babe, and the gray-headed man—

71Shall one by one be gathered to thy side,

72By those, who in their turn shall follow them.

73So live, that when thy summons comes to join

74The innumerable caravan, which moves

75To that mysterious realm, where each shall take

76His chamber in the silent halls of death,

77Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,

78Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed

79By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,

80Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch

81About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.