Caroline Anne Southey

The Christian Pauper's Death-Bed

Tread softly — bow the head —
In rev'rent silence bow —
No passing bell doth toll,
Yet an immortal soul
IS passing now.

Stranger! however great,
With lowly rev'rence bow;
There's one in that poor shed —
One by that paltry bed —
Greater than thou.

Beneath that beggar's roof,
Lo! Death doth keep his state,
Enter — no crowds attend —
Enter — no guards defend
This palace gate.

That pavement, damp and cold,
No smiling courtiers tread;
One silent woman stands,
Lifting with meagre hands
A dying head.

No mingling voices sound—
An infant wail alone;
A sob suppress'd — again
That short deep gasp, and then —
The parting groan.

Oh! change — oh, wondrous change,
Burst are the prison bars—
This moment there, so low,
So agonised — and now
Beyond the stars.

Oh! change — stupendous change!
There lies the soulless clod;
The sun eternal breaks —
The new immortal wakes —
Wakes with his God.