I gazed upon the glorious sky
And the green mountains round,
And thought that when I came to lie
At rest within the ground,
'Twere pleasant that in flowery June
When brooks send up a cheerful tune,
And groves a joyous sound,
The sexton's hand, my grave to make.
The rich, green mountain turf should break.
I would rather sleep in the southern corner of a little country churchyard, than in the tombs of the Capulets.
Perhaps the early grave
Which men weep over may be meant to save.
| author = Byron
| work = Don Juan.
| place = Canto IV. St. 12.
| topic = Grave
| page = 338
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num = 4
| text = <poem>Of all
The fools who flock'd to swell or see the show
Who car'd about the corpse? The funeral
Made the attraction, and the black the woe;
There throbb'd not there a thought which
pierc'd the pall.
What's hallow'd ground? Has earth a clod
Its Maker mean'd not should be trod By man, the image of his God, Erect and free, Unscourged by Superstition's rod To bow the knee. Campbell—Hallowed Ground. </poem>
But an untimely grave.
Carew—On the Duke of Buckingham.
The grave's the market place.
Death and the Lady. Ballad in Dixon's Ballads. The Percy Society.
The solitary, silent, solemn scene,
Where Caesars, heroes, peasants, hermits lie,
Blended in dust together; where the slave
Rests from his labors; where th' insulting proud
Resigns his powers; the miser drops his hoard:
Where human folly sleeps.
Dyer—Ruins of Rome. L. 540.
Etsi alterum pedem in sepulchre haberem.
(Julian would learn something) even if he
had one foot in the grave.
Erasmus. Quoting Pomtonius, of Julian.
Original •phrase one foot in the ferry boat,
meaning Charon's boat.
| seealso = (See also Beaumont, Wordsworth)
| topic =
| page =
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = <poem>Alas, poor Tom! how oft, with merry heart,
Have we beheld thee play the Sexton's part;
Each comic heart must now be grieved to see
The Sexton's dreary part performed on thee.
Robert Fergusson—Epigram on the Death
of Mr. Thomas Lancashire, Comedian.
Some village Hampden, that, with dauntless
breast,
The little tyrant of his fields withstood,
Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest,
Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood.
Gray—Elegy in a Country Churchyard.
The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,
And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave,
Await alike th' inevitable hour,
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
Gray—Elegy in a Country Churchyard.
Fond fool! six feet shall serve for all thy store,
And he that cares for most shall find no more.
Joseph Hall—Satires. No. III. Second
| seealso = (See also Herbert, Lucanus)
| topic =
| page =
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = <poem>Such graves as his are pilgrim shrines,
Shrines to no code or creed confined,—
The Delphian vales, the Palestines,
The Meccas of the mind.
Fitz-Greene Halleck—Burns. St. 32.
| author =
| work =
| place =
| note =
| topic =
| page =
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num = 15
| text = Green be the turf above thee,
Friend of my better days;
None knew thee but to love thee
Nor named thee but to praise.
Fitz-Greene Halleck—On the death of J.
R.Drake.
| seealso = (See also Pope, also Burns under Love)
| topic =
| page =
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = <poem>Graves they say are warm'd by glory;
Foolish words and empty story.
Heine—Latest Poems. Epilogue. L. 1.
.
Where shall we make her grave?
Oh! where the wild flowers wave
In the free air!
When shower and singing-bird
'Midst the young leaves are heard,
There—lay her there!
Felicia D. Hemans—Dirge. Where Shall we
Make her Grave?
A piece of a Churchyard fits everybody.
| author = Herbert
| work = J acuta Prudentum.
| seealso = (See also Hall)
| topic =
| page =
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = <poem>The house appointed for all living.
Job. XXX. 23.
Teach me to live that I may dread
The grave as little as my bed.
Bishop Ken—Evening Hymn. The same is
found in Thomas Browne—Religio Medici.
Both are taken from the old Hymni Ecdcscsiir. '
Then to the grave I turned me to see what therein lay;
'Twas the garment of the Christian, worn out
and thrown away.
Krummacher—Death and the Christian.
I like that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls
The burial-ground God's Acre. It is just.
| author = Longfellow
| work = God's Acre.
| seealso = (See also Beaumont)
| topic =
| page =
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = <poem>This is the field and Acre of our God,
This is the place where human harvests grow!
| author = Longfellow
| work = God's Acre.
