Listen, the last stroke of death's noon has
struck—

The plague is come," a gnashing Madman said,

And laid him down straightway upon his bed.
His writhed hands did at the linen pluck ;
Then all is over. With a careless chuck

Among his fellows he is cast. How sped

His spirit matters little : many dead
Make men hard-hearted. — '' Place him on the truck.
Go forth into the burial-ground and find

Room at so much a pitful for so many.

One thing is to be done ; one thing is clear :
Keep thou back from the hot unwholesome wind,

That it infect not thee." Say, is there any
Avho mourneth for the multitude dead here ?