Classic Poem

Infants are but cradles for the grave
& death the nurse as soon as life begins
Time keeps accounts books for him & they save
Expences for his funeral out of sins
The stone is not put down—but when death wins
Churchyards are chronicles where all sleep well
The gravestones there as afterlives live in
Go search the Scriptures they will plainly tell
That God made heaven—Man himself the hell.