<h3><SPAN name="The_Death_of_the_Poor" id="The_Death_of_the_Poor"></SPAN>The Death of the Poor</h3>
<p class="margin-b">
It is Death that consoles—yea, and causes our lives;<br/>
'Tis the goal of this Life—and of Hope the sole ray,<br/>
Which like a strong potion enlivens and gives<br/>
Us the strength to plod on to the end of the day.<br/>
<br/>
And all through the tempest, the frost and the snows,<br/>
'Tis the shimmering light on our black sky-line;<br/>
'Tis the famous inn which the guide-book shows,<br/>
Whereat one can eat, and sleep, and recline;<br/>
<br/>
'Tis an angel that holds in his magic hands<br/>
The sleep, which ecstatic dream commands,<br/>
Who remakes up the beds of the naked and poor;<br/>
<br/>
'Tis the fame of the gods, 'tis the granary blest,<br/>
'Tis the purse of the poor, and his birth-place of rest,<br/>
To the unknown Heavens, 'tis the wide-open door.<br/></p>
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