Poems (Hoffman)/The Multitude
THE MULTITUDE
They come and go, this world's uncounted throngs,Each on his individual aim intent;They come and go, 'till in the gathering shadesFor each, life's little fleeting day is spent;As one by one they come, a mingled hostBorn to earth's heritage of life and breath,So one by one they go, a countless throng;Let pride and honor trample underneathThe lowly lot of poverty and toil,Death spareth not the wealthy or the poor;But claims them all,To the same dust they go; impartial handsStrew with fresh sunbeams each lone resting place,Reflected sunsets and supernal mornsWrap all alike in floods of loveliness.