Graves.
39
Scattered all over our beautiful land,
The lifeless forms of her soldiery lie,
Brave hearts, who at pitiless duty's command,
Left homes desolate, for country to die.
By sickness, by prison, by bullet low laid—
Holds the broad earth a more sorrowful sight,
Than the scarcely-grassed mounds of this harvest of dead,
Who v/ere almost forbidden the funeral rite?
Vet bitterer still is the exile's fate,
Who, no country to die for, mourns out his days—
And more gloomy the death in life, which awaits
The infamous wretch, who his country betrays.
The lifeless forms of her soldiery lie,
Brave hearts, who at pitiless duty's command,
Left homes desolate, for country to die.
By sickness, by prison, by bullet low laid—
Holds the broad earth a more sorrowful sight,
Than the scarcely-grassed mounds of this harvest of dead,
Who v/ere almost forbidden the funeral rite?
Vet bitterer still is the exile's fate,
Who, no country to die for, mourns out his days—
And more gloomy the death in life, which awaits
The infamous wretch, who his country betrays.
Oh, many a grave for the breathing dead
Is colder and darker than sexton scoops,
And weightiest burial-stone is laid
On the hidden tomb of departed hopes.
God pity the grave in the human breast,
O'er which bitter tears are hopelessly shed;
And with balm from the land of heavenly rest,
Give penitent hope to the living dead.
Teach us, thy pupils, unapt as we are,
To bury our life- burden deep in Thy love,
And uttering low the Gethsemane prayer,
Wait humbly the sure-coming aid from above.
Is colder and darker than sexton scoops,
And weightiest burial-stone is laid
On the hidden tomb of departed hopes.
God pity the grave in the human breast,
O'er which bitter tears are hopelessly shed;
And with balm from the land of heavenly rest,
Give penitent hope to the living dead.
Teach us, thy pupils, unapt as we are,
To bury our life- burden deep in Thy love,
And uttering low the Gethsemane prayer,
Wait humbly the sure-coming aid from above.
