His Books
MY
days
among
the
Dead
are
past;
Around
me
I
behold,
Where'er
these
casual
eyes
are
cast,
The
mighty
minds
of
old:
My
never-failing
friends
are
they,
With
whom
I
converse
day
by
day.
With
them
I
take
delight
in
weal
And
seek
relief
in
woe;
And
while
I
understand
and
feel
How
much
to
them
I
owe,
My
cheeks
have
often
been
bedew'd
With
tears
of
thoughtful
gratitude.
My
thoughts
are
with
the
Dead;
with
them
I
live
in
long-past
years,
Their
virtues
love,
their
faults
condemn,
Partake
their
hopes
and
fears;
And
from
their
lessons
seek
and
find
Instruction
with
an
humble
mind.
My
hopes
are
with
the
Dead;
anon
My
place
with
them
will
be,
And
I
with
them
shall
travel
on
Through
all
Futurity;
Yet
leaving
here
a
name,
I
trust,
That
will
not
perish
in
the
dust.
