3Uafcfg. 219 
Death is the crown of life: 
Were death denied, poor men would live in vain; 
Were death denied, to live would not be life: 
Were death denied, even fools would wish to die. 
Young. 
Death is the sea, and we like rivers flow 
To lose our selves in the insatiate maine, 
Whence rivers may, she ne’er returne againe. 
Nor grieve this christall streame so soone did fall 
Into the ocean; since shee perfumed all 
The banks she past, so that each neighbour field 
Did sweete flowers cherish by her watring, yeeld, 
Which now adorne her herse. 
Habington. 
We bore him to the grave while yet ’twas morn, 
The winter sunlight shining on his coffin: 
The weight of grief was heavy to be borne, 
And the salt tears rose in our eyelids often. 
We slowly walked in mutely sad procession; 
The pitying people freely made us way ; 
And the blest child, yet guiltless of transgression, 
We softly placed between the walls of clay. 
We sang a hymn—we bowed our heads to pray; 
And God, who had our bitter grief appointed, 
Sent also strengthening grace by lips anointed. 
We looked again on George as low he lay 
Deep in the earth; and when we homeward went, 
We felt his home was better ’yond the firmament. 
MacKellar. 
