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When all light shall have left your body
All of a kind they will not choose your dwelling
They come & go and no one has heard
Till beneath the earth what will happen to your body

 

P 685

When soul from body's clean passed away of me and thee,
A couple of tiles on the tombs they 'll lay of me and thee;
Then, tiles to fashion for other folk's graves, anon
In the mould of the potter they 'll press this clay of me and thee.

Th 855

When from the body thy bright gem doth roam,
With other sorts of beings choose thy home,
Men come and go and no one understands
When 'neath clay what doth to thy body come.

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