Thomas Gray

E'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries,
E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires.

E'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries,
E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires.

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,
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The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,
Await alike th' inevitable hour,
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

To each his suff'rings; all are men,
Condemn'd alike to groan;
The tender for another's pain,
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To each his suff'rings; all are men,
Condemn'd alike to groan;
The tender for another's pain,
Th' unfeeling for his own.
Yet ah! why should they know their fate,
Since sorrow never comes too late,
And happiness too swiftly flies?
Thought would destroy their paradise.

Visions of glory, spare my aching sight!
Ye unborn ages, crown not on my soul.

Visions of glory, spare my aching sight!
Ye unborn ages, crown not on my soul.

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere,
Heaven did a recompense as largely send;
He gave read more

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere,
Heaven did a recompense as largely send;
He gave to misery (all he had) a tear,
He gain'd from Heaven ('twas all he wish'd) a friend.