32
Honor's meed of fragrant blossoms brightly blooming o'er the dead,
Marks the dear, familiar pathway that their feet were wont to tread;
They are waiting, as are many in this world sweet and fair,
Waiting, waiting, only waiting, but the waiting is a prayer.
Marks the dear, familiar pathway that their feet were wont to tread;
They are waiting, as are many in this world sweet and fair,
Waiting, waiting, only waiting, but the waiting is a prayer.
