So live that when thy summons to join
The innumerable caravan, which moves
To that mysterious realm where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not like the quarry slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave
Like one who wraps the draperies of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
~ William Cullen Bryant
Going through some old papers and pictures today, I found my great grandmother's funeral book. This poem was printed on the first page.