It is Death that consoles—yea, and causes our lives; 'Tis the goal of this Life—and of Hope the sole ray,
Which like a strong potion enlivens and gives
Us the strength to plod on to the end of the day.
 
And all through the tempest, the frost and the snows,
'Tis the shimmering light on our black sky-line;
'Tis the famous inn which the guide-book shows,
Whereat one c............