In vain the wealthy mortals toil
And heap their shining dust in vain
Look down and scorn the humble poor
And boast their lofty hills of gain

Their golden cordials cannot ease
Their pained hearts or aching heads
Nor fright nor bribe approaching death
From glittering roofs and downy beds

The lingering, the unwilling soul
The dismal summons must obey
And bid a long, a sad farewell
To the pale lump of lifeless clay

Thence they are huddled to the grave
Where kings and slaves have equal thronеs;
Their bones without distinction lie
Amongst thе heap of meaner bones