Who walk all day beneath God's watching eye, And sleep the night 'neath angels' ministry, Nor made the sport of visions that arise To show th' abyss of fire to dreaming eyes. All they who while on earth, the pure of heart, The heav'nly echoes hear, and who in part Make smooth for man rude ways he has to tread, And knowing earthly vanity, outspread Their virtue like a carpet rich and rare, And walk o'er evil, touching it nowhere. When come sad guests from off that suff'ring shore, Which Dante saw in dream sublime of yore, Appearing midst us here that day most blessed, 'Tis but to those; for they alone have guessed The secrets of the grave; alone they understand The pallid mendicants, who ask for heav'n. Of Israel's King the psalms, inspired cries, With Job's sublime distress, commingled rise; The sanctuary sobs them through the naves While wak'ning subtle fear, the bell's deep toll With fun'ral sounds, demanding pity's dole For wand'ring ghosts, as countless as the waves. Give on this day, when over all the earth The Church to God makes moan for parted worth; Your own remorse, regret at least to calm Awak'ning memory's dying flame, give balm, Flow'rs for their graves, and prayer for each loved soul, Those gifts divine can yet the dead console. Pray for your friends, and for your mother pray, Who made less drear for you life's desert way, For all the portions of your heart that lie Shut in the tomb, alas, each youthful tie Is lost within the coffin's close constraint, Where, prey of worms, the dead send up their plaint For exiles far from home and native land, Who dying hear no voice, nor touch no hand In life alone, more lonely still in death. With none for their repose, to breathe one prayer, Cast alms of tears upon an alien grave, Or heed the stranger lonely even there; For those whose wounded souls when here below, But anxious thought and bitter fancies know, With days all joyless, nights of dull unrest; For those who in night's calm find all so blest And meet, in place of hope with morning beams, A horrid wak'ning to their golden dreams; For all the pariahs of human kind Who, heavy burdens bearing, find How high the steeps of human woe they scale. Oh, let your heart some off'ring make to these, One pious thought, one holy word of peace, Which shall twixt them and God swift rend the veil. The tribute bring of prayers and holy tears, That when your hour draws nigh of nameless fears, When reached their term shall be your numbered days, Your name made known above with grateful praise, By those whose suff'rings it was yours to end, Arriving there find welcome as a friend!