text:  But while the train was yet a good way off-- The workhouse burial train--I stopp'd to look Upon the scene before me; and methought Oh! that some gifted painter could behold And give duration to that living picture So rich in moral and pictorial beauty If seen arightly by the spiritual eye As with the bodily organ! The old tomb With its quaint tracery gilded here and there With sunlight glancing through the o'er-arching lime Far flinging its cool shadow flickering light-- Our greyhair'd sexton with his hard grey face (A living tombstone!) resting on his mattock By the low portal; and just over right His back against the lime-tree his thin hands Lock'd in each other--hanging down before him As with their own dead weight--a tall slim youth With hollow hectic cheek and pale parch'd lip And labouring breath and eyes upon the ground Fast rooted as if taking measurement Betime for his own grave