Of all the gods, Death only craves not gifts:Nor sacrifice, nor yet drink-offering pouredAvails; no altars hath he, nor is soothedBy hymns of praise. From him alone of allThe powers of heaven Persuasion holds aloof.
So live, that when thy summons comes to joinThe innumerable caravan which movesTo that mysterious realm, where each shall takeHis chamber in the silent halls of death,Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothedBy an unfaltering trust, approach thy graveLike one who wraps the drapery of his couchAbout him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.william cullen bryant
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