The dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country, from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will;
And makes us rather bear those ills we have,
Than fly to others that we know not of.
777
SHAKS.: _Hamlet,_ Act iii., Sc. 1.

O Death, O Beyond,
Thou art sweet, thou art strange!
778
MRS. BROWNING: _Rhapsody of Life's Progress._

Ah Christ, that it were possible
For one short hour to see
The souls we loved, that they might tell us
What and where they be.
779
TENNYSON: _Maud,_ Pt. xxvi., St. 3.

Trust no future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
780
LONGFELLOW: _Psalm of Life._




==G.==