Classic Poem

The stealthy streamlet through the waste of stone
Glides unrejoicing. Lay the body there,
And deal the dole of customary care,
The mercenary touch, the chartered moan;
Compose the hands of passive skin and bone;
Draw down the lids and smooth the cramped limb;
And then, O mourners, you have done with him,
And he can sleep untended and alone.

Methought the dead lips moved and spake and said: —
" O living men, so proud and free and wise,
Behold these helpless hands, these sightless eyes!
Behold and learn a lesson from the dead!
One lives; and in His hands your act and thought
Are even as I am: and you know it not."