And weep the more, because I weep in vain.
A fav'rite has no friend!
Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the poor.
Can honor's voice provoke the silent dust, or flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of death?
From toil he wins his spirits light, From busy day the peaceful night; Rich, from the very want of wealth, In heaven's best treasures, peace and health.
E'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries, E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires.