Classic Poem

No cares shall meet the silent sleeper here;
No foes annoy; kind mother earth, wherein
He lies, surrounds him fostering, in her arms;
She plants fair flowers above him; storms may beat
Her bosom, opened to the winter's rage, —
He is secure , — she is his sure defense;
" Clods of the valley shall be sweet to him,
And friends shall come and with him make abode. "
Mansion of rest, the stillness and the gloom
Can bring no horrors to thy quiet home!