A mighty multitude, beyond the power Of men to number, moved about the plain; Some, seeming strangers, wander through the groves And pluck the flowers or eat the luscious fruits; Some, seeming visitors from better worlds, Here wait and watch as for expected guests; While angel devas, clothed in innocence, Whose faces beam with wisdom, glow with love, With loving welcomes greet each coming guest, With loving counsels aid, instruct and guide. And as he looked, the countless, restless throng Seemed ever changing, ever moving on, So that this plain, comparing great to small, Seemed like a station near some royal town, Greater than London or old Babylon, Where all the roads from some vast empire meet, And many caravans or sweeping trains Bring and remove the ever-changing throng. This plain a valley bordered, deep and still, The very valley of his fearful dream Seen from the other side, whose rising mists Were all aglow with ever-changing light, Like passing clouds above the setting sun, Through which as through a glass he darkly saw Unnumbered funeral-trains, in sable clad, To solemn music and with measured tread Bearing their dead to countless funeral-piles, As thick as heaps that through the livelong day With patient toil the sturdy woodmen rear, While clearing forests for the golden grain, And set aflame when evening's shades descend, Filling the glowing woods with floods of light And ghostly shadows: So these funeral-piles Send up their curling smoke and crackling flames. There eager flames devour an infant's flesh; Here loving arms that risen infant clasp; There loud laments bewail a loved one lost; Here joyful welcomes greet that loved one found. And there he saw a pompous funeral-train, Bearing a body clothed in robes of state, To blare of trumpet, sound of shell and drum, While many mourners bow in silent grief, And widows, orphans raise a loud lament As for a father, a protector lost; And as the flames lick up the fragrant oils, And whirl and hiss around that wasting form, An eager watcher from a better world Welcomes her husband to her open arms, The cumbrous load of pomp and power cast off, While waiting devas and the happy throng His power protected and his bounty blessed With joy conduct his unaccustomed steps Onward and upward, to those blissful seats Where all his stores of duties well performed, Of power well used and wealth in kindness given, Were garnered up beyond the reach of thieves, Where moths ne'er eat and rust can ne'er corrupt.