The Death-Bed of the Poor, by Ichabod Spencer

This poem was written by the pastor Ichabod Spencer, some time during his ministry back in the 1800's. I found it while reading his incredible book, A Pastor's Sketches: Conversations with Anxious Souls Concerning the Way of Salvation, published by Solid Ground Christian Books. 

Tread softly--bow the head--
   In reverent silence bow;
No passing bell doth toll--
Yest an immortal soul
       Is passing now.

 Stranger! however great
  With lowly reverence bow;
There's one in that poor shed--
One on that paltry bed--
      Greater than thou.

Beneath that beggar's roof,
   Lo! Death doth keep his state.
Enter--no crowd attend;
Enter--no guards defend
    This palace gate.

That pavement, damp and cold,
   No smiling courtiers tread;
One silent woman stands--
Lifting with meagre hands
           A dying head.

No mingling voices voices sound--
   An infant wail along;
A sob suppressed--again
That short, deep gasp, and then
     The parting groan.

Oh, change!--oh, wondrous change!--
   Burst are the prison bars;
This moment there, so low,
So agonized; and now
     Beyond the stars.

Oh, change!--stupendous change!
   There lies the soulless clod.
The sun eternal breaks--
The new immortal wakes--
     Wakes with his God.