[PLYMOUTH PLANTATION: 1622] br br The strong and the tender, br The young and the old, br Unto Death we must render;— br Our silver, our gold. br To break their long sleeping br No voice may avail: br They hear not our weeping— br Our famished love's wail. br Yea, those whom we cherish br Depart, day by day. br Soon we, too, shall perish br And crumble to clay. br And the vine and the berry br Above us will bloom; br The wind shall make merry br While we lie in gloom.