There stands a hostel by a travelled way;
Life is the road and Death the worthy host;
Each guest he greets, nor ever lacks to say, "How have ye fared?" They answer him, the most,"This lodging place is other than we sought;
We had intended farther, but the
Came on apace, and found us ere we thought:
Yet will we lodge. Thou hast abundant room."Within sit haggard men that speak no word,
No fire gleams their cheerful welcome shed;
No voice of fellowship or strife is heard But silence of a multitude of dead."Naught can I offer ye," quoth Death, "but rest!"And to his chamber leads each tired guest.