When Sickness shews us life's dini-waning lamp,
And bids us turn our darkening eyes above;
When friends hang o'er our beds, and wipe the damp
Cold dews of death with the soft hand of love, —
'Tis good to have and feel that mental power
Which doth surpass the strong man's puny might —
(Prepared thus , in life's most fateful hour
We unappalled stand, and brave its spite);
But better still, and cause for praise, to have
Fair Conscience sitting smilingly and calm —
Fresh-living hopes that look beyond the grave,
And are to wounded hearts a present balm —
And cheerful, hopeful thoughts, that smile and bloom
Above the body's wreck, like flowerets o'er a tomb.