Mine Host

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.