New Hampshire Statesman And Concord Register

THE DEAD--BY BERNARD BARTON.

"Number the grains of sand outspread
Wherever Ocean's billows flow;
Or count the bright stars over head,
As these in their proud courses glow;
Count all the tribes on earth that creep,
Or that expand the wing in air:
Number the hosts that in the deep
Existence and its pleasures share;
Count the green leaves that in the breath
Of Spring's blithe gale are dancing fast;
Or those all faded sere, in death,
Which flit before the wintery blast:
Ay! number these, and myriads more,
All countless as they seem to be:
There still remains an ampler store
Untold by, and unknown of thee.

Askest thou" Who, or what be they ?"
Oh! think upon thy mortal doom;
And with anointed eye survey
The silent empire of the tomb!

Think of all those who erst have been
Living as thou art-even now;
Looking upon life's busy scene
With glance as careless, light as thou.
All these, like thee, have lived and moved.
Have seen--what now thou lookest upon,
Have fear'd, hoped, hated, mourn'd or loved,
And now from mortal sight are gone.

Yet though unseen of human eye,
Their relics slumber in the earth-
The boon of immortality
To them was given with vital birth.
They were, and having been, they are,
Earth but contains their mould'ring dust;
Their deathless spirits, near or far
With thine must rise to meet the just.

Thou know'st not but they hover near,
Witness of every secret deed.
Which, shunning human eye or ear,
The spirits of the dead may heed.

An awful thought it is to think
The viewless dead outnumber all,
Who, bound by life's connecting link,
Now share with us this earthly ball.
It is a thought as dread and high,
And one to wake a fearful thrill.
To think, while all who live must die.
The dead, the dead, are living still!"