Poems (Angier)/The Emigrant's Grave

by Annie Lanman Angier

THE EMIGRANT'S GRAVE.

Away from her home near the wildwood,
 Away from her parents' hearth;
Away from the scenes of her childhood
 The loved one passed from earth.

By strangers' hands, she was carried
 To her rest, in the forest drear;
While not a mourner tarried,
 To shed o'er her turf, a tear.

Her grave you can scarce discover,
 The marble marks it not;
But angels round it hover,
 To guard the holy spot.

And while bright watch they're keeping,
 They softly seem to say—
"She is not dead, but sleeping,
 To wake in cloudless day."

The glad stream leaps from its fountain,
 The sun seeks the golden west;
The wild bird hies to the mountain,
 And to heaven return the blest.