Yes, holy be thy resting-place
Wherever thou mayst lie;
The sweetest winds breathe on thy face
The softest of the sky.
And will not guardian angels send
Kind dreams and thoughts of love,
Though I no more may watchful bend
Thy loved repose above?
And will not heaven itself bestow
A beam of glory there,
That summer's grass more green may grow,
And summer's flowers more fair?
Farewell, farewell; 'tis hard to part,
Yet, loved one, it must be:
I would not rend another heart,
Not even with blessing thee.
Go! we must break affection's chain,
Forget the hopes of years:
Nay, grieve not—wouldest thou remain
To waken wilder tears?
This heart burns with thee and me,
Loves it the dreaming day:
But thou shouldst be where it shall be
Ere evening, far away.