No abbey's gloom, nor dark cathedral stoops, <br />No winding torches paint the midnight air; <br />Here the green pines delight, the aspen droops <br />Along the modest pathways, and those fair <br />Pale asters of the season spread their plumes <br />Around this field, fit garden for our tombs. <br /> <br />And shalt thou pause to hear some funeral bell <br />Slow stealing o'er thy heart in this calm place, <br />Not with a throb of pain, a feverish knell, <br />But in its kind and supplicating grace, <br />It says, Go, pilgrim, on thy march, be more <br />Friend to the friendless than thou wast before; <br /> <br />Learn from the loved one's rest serenity; <br />To-morrow that soft bell for thee shall sound, <br />And thou repose beneath the whispering tree, <br />One tribute more to this submissive ground;- <br />Prison thy soul from malice, bar out pride, <br />Nor these pale flowers nor this still field deride: <br /> <br />Rather to those ascents of being turn, <br />Where a ne'er-setting sun illumes the year <br />Eternal, and the incessant watchfires burn <br />Of unspent holiness and goodness clear,- <br />Forget man's littleness, deserve the best, <br />God's mercy in thy thought and life confest.<br /><br />William Ellery Channing<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sleepy-hollow-3/
