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Who, from their lowly mansions hither brought,
Beneath this turf lie mouldering at our feet.
So, by your records, may our doubts be solved;
And so, not searching higher, we may learn
To prize the breath we share with human kind;
And look upon the dust of Man with awe."
The Priest replied.—"An office you impose
For which peculiar requisites are mine;
Yet much, I feel, is wanting—else the task
Would be most grateful. True indeed it is
That They whom Death has hidden from our sight
Are worthiest of the Mind's regard; with these
The future cannot contradict the past:
Mortality's last exercise and proof
Is undergone; the transit made that shews
The very soul, revealed as it departs.
Yet, on your first suggestion, will I give,
Ere we descend into these silent vaults,
One Picture from the living.—
You behold,
High on the breast of yon dark mountain—dark
With stony barrenness, a shining speck
