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.

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