Classic Poem

Lone, they rest. Nor Snap, nor Snivel,
Robs, or pities virtue's dust!
Marble insults, Cant and Drivel
Build not o'er the just.
Them, in thought, the honest only
Visit, while they toil as slaves:
Oh, 'Tis true? the stars shine lonely
Over good men's graves.
All in silence, not in sorrow,
Read they on the wordless sod,
" These men's deeds will speak, to-morrow:
They are words of God;
Heard in heav'n, with tears of gladness;
Mute on earth! yet working there;
Bringing chains for rapine's madness,
Wings for chain'd despair. "