Robert Blair

But if there be an hereafter,
And that there is, conscience, uninfluenc'd
And suffer'd to speak out, read more

But if there be an hereafter,
And that there is, conscience, uninfluenc'd
And suffer'd to speak out, tells every man,
Then must it be an awful thing to die;
More horrid yet to die by one's own hand.

See yonder maker of the dead man's bed,
The sexton, hoary-headed chronicle,
Of hard, unmeaning face, down read more

See yonder maker of the dead man's bed,
The sexton, hoary-headed chronicle,
Of hard, unmeaning face, down which ne'er stole
A gentle tear.

The schoolboy, with his satchel in his hand,
Whistling aloud to bear his courage up.

The schoolboy, with his satchel in his hand,
Whistling aloud to bear his courage up.

Friendship! mysterious cement of the soul,
Sweet'ner of life, and solder of society.

Friendship! mysterious cement of the soul,
Sweet'ner of life, and solder of society.

Careless, unsocial plant! that loves to dwell
'Midst skulls and coffins, epitaphs and worms:
Where light-heel'd ghosts read more

Careless, unsocial plant! that loves to dwell
'Midst skulls and coffins, epitaphs and worms:
Where light-heel'd ghosts and visionary shades,
Beneath the wan, cold Moon (as Fame reports)
Embodied, thick, perform their mystic rounds
No other merriment, dull tree! is thine.