Is Death The Last Sleep? No, It

Give Me An Honest Laugher.

Breathes There The Man, With Soul So Dead, Who Never To Himself Hath Said, This Is My Own, My Native Land! Whose Heart Hath Ne'er Within Him Burn'd, As Home His Footsteps He Hath Turn'd From Wandering On A Foreign Strand! If Such There Breathe, Go Mark Him Well; For Him No Minstrel Raptures Swell; High Though His Titles, Proud His Name, Boundless His Wealth As Wish Can Claim; Despite Those Titles, Power, And Pelf, The Wretch, Concentred All In Self, Living, Shall Forfeit Fair Renown, And, Doubly Dying, Shall Go Down To The Vile Dust, From Whence He Sprung, Unwept, Unhonor'd, And Unsung.

O! Many A Shaft, At Random Sent, Finds Mark The Archer Little Meant! And Many A Word, At Random Spoken, May Soothe Or Wound A Heart That's Broken!

Many Miles Away There's A Shadow On The Door Of A Cottage On The Shore Of A Dark Scottish Lake.

Those Who Follow The Banners Oreason Are Like The Well-disciplined Battalions Which, Wearing A More Sober Uniform And Making A Less Dazzling Show Than The Light Troops Commanded By Imagination, Enjoy More Safety, And Even More Honor, In The Conflicts Ohuman Life.