Rest Of The Grave Poem by John Bowring

Their labours are ended, their duty is o'er,
The sorrows of life shall disturb them no more!
No longer the damps of the midnight shall scathe,
Nor the pestilent noontide bring sorrow and death.


Through the darkness and discord of life they have passed,
And have reached the calm port of their voyage at last,
Where the billows are silent, the tempest is stilled,
And the haven around with serenity filled.


However distress may have trained them below,
However o'erwhelmed with the breakers of woe,
They sleep in the stillness of peace-and at length
Shall awake in the glory of virtue and strength.


To mourn were ungrateful, with hopes such as this;
To mourn were unwise, with such promise of bliss:
No! rather we'll joy in their joy-and prepare
On their pillows to rest, in their glory to share.