  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 by that paltry bed— Greater than thou. Beneath that beggar's roof, Lo! Death doth keep his state. Enter, no crowds attend; Enter, no guards defend This palace gate. That pavement, damp and cold, No smiling courtiers tread; Lifting with meagre hands A dying head. No mingling voices sound,— An infant wail alone; A sob suppressed,—again That short deep gasp, and then— The parting groan. O change! O wondrous change! Burst are the prison bars,— This moment there so low, So agonized, and now Beyond the stars. O change! stupendous change! There lies the soulless clod; The sun eternal breaks, The new immortal wakes,— Wakes with his God. Caroline Bowles Southey. |
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