The greatest of our Egyptian kings had his effigy cut-out of a hill of solid rock.

Day after day he went with a host in chariots to see the work; at last it was finished, never effigy so grand, so enduring: it looked like him--the features were his, faithful even in expression.

Now may we not think of him saying in that moment of pride, 'Let Death come; there is an after-life for me!' He had his wish.

The statue is there yet.
"But what is the after-life he thus secured?
Only a recollection by men--a glory unsubstantial as moonshine on the brow of the great bust; a story in stone--nothing more.

Meantime what has become of the king?
There is an embalmed body up in the royal tombs which once was his--an effigy not so fair to look at as the other out in the Desert.