In sooth, this earth is a lovely place;
Pass not in darkness over her face;
Yet call back thy words of doom-
They are too gay and too fair for the tomb.
. . . .
And have seen--alas! 'tis but outward show-
The sunshine of yon green earth below:
Glad of rest must the wretched and way-worn be-
Angel of Death, they are ready for thee!