William Cowper on Death

“All has its date below; the fatal hour Was register'd in Heav'n ere time began. We turn to dust, and all our mightiest works Die too.”

“All flesh is grass, and all its glory fades Like the fair flower dishevell'd in the wind; Riches have wings, and grandeur is a dream; The man we celebrate must find a tomb, And we that worship him, ignoble graves.”