So live, that, when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan, that moves
To that mysterious realm, where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon; but sustain'd and sooth'd
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,
Like one that draws the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. ~ Bryant.
Death is the crown of life. ~ Young.
Leaves have their times to fall,
And flowers to wither at the north wind's breath,
And stars to setóbut all,
Thou hast all seasons for thine own, O death.
~ Mrs. Hemans: Hour of Death.