Features, The Great Soul's Apparent Seat.

So Live, That When Thy Summons Comes To Join, The Innumerable Caravan Which Moves, To That Mysterious Realm Where Each Shall Take, His Chamber In The Silent Halls Of Death, Thou Go Not, Like The Quarry-slave At Night, Scourged By His Dungeon, But, Sustained And Soothed, By An Unfaltering Trust, Approach Thy Grave, Like One Who Wraps The Drapery Of His Couch, About Him, And Lies Down To Pleasant Dreams.

Come When The Rains Have Glazed The Snow And Clothed The Trees With Ice, While The Slant Sun Of February Pours Into The Bowers A Flood Of Light. Approach! The Incrusted Surface Shall Upbear Thy Steps And The Broad Arching Portals Of The Grove Welcome Thy Entering.

The Rose That Lives Its Little Hour Is Prized Beyone The Sculpted Flower.

The Hushed Winds Their Sabbath Keep.

Earth, That Nourished Thee, Shall Claim Thy Growth, To Be Resolved To Earth Again, And, Lost Each Human Trace, Surrendering Up Thine Individual Being, Shalt Thou Go To Mix Forever With The Elements, To Be A Brother To The Insensible Rock And To The Sluggish Clod, Which The Rude Swain Turns With His Share, And Treads Upon. The Oak Shall Send His Roots Abroad, And Pierce Thy Mold.