The poor man's friend.

O DEATH the poor man's dearest friend, The kindest and the best, Welcome the hour my weary limbs Are laid in thee at rest.

There is a rest for weary souls, When life's warfare is o'er; There is a land more fair than this, 'Tis on the farther shore.

Our fathers who have nobly fought, Have gone before us there; And now if we their footsteps tread, We shall their glory share.