| Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900. |
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| 1482. The End |
| | | By Wallace Rice |
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| NO freeman, saith the wise, thinks much on death: | |
| No man with soul he dareth call his own | |
| Liveth in dread lest there be no atone | |
| In time to come for yesterday’s warm breath, | |
| No more than he for such and hungereth | 5 |
| As falls to those who speed their souls a-groan; | |
| Death may be King, to sit a tottering throne | |
| And hale men hence—let cowards cringe to Death! | |
| Who giveth, taketh; and the days go by: | |
| No seed sowed we; let him who did come reap: | 10 |
| Sweet peace is ours—and everlastingly,— | |
| A little sleep, a little slumber! Ay, | |
| This much is known: there is for thee and me | |
| A little folding of the hands to sleep. | |
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