We are warned of death.

BENEATH our feet and o'er our head, Is equal warning giv'n; Beneath us lie the countless dead, Above us is the heav n.

Their names are graven on the stone, Their bones are in the clay; And ere another day is done, Ourselves may be as they.

Death rides on ev'ry passing breeze; He lurks in ev'ry flow'r; Each season has its own disease, Its peril ev'ry hour.

Our eyes have seen the rosy light, Of youth's soft cheek decay; And fate descend in sudden night On manhood's middle day.

Turn, mortal, turn; thy danger know; Where'er thy foot can tread; The earth rings hollow from below, And warns thee of her dead.