THE DEW OF DUST
O dead of earth, rejoice!
The flowers from the dust
By vernal dews arise
And smile reviving trust,
When from their Wintry tomb they wake
And into Summer beauty break.
And so shall sleeping be
Within our fleshly tomb;
The Eastertide shall free
The life that lieth numb,
And from the dust shall rise anew
The deathless bloom of Spring and dew.
Say not to ashes turns
Our being with its shell,
For a divineness burns
By death unquenchable
To warm the poor chill mould we’re of
And our undying nature prove.
If not another grace
Shall clothe our soul’s desire,
Let not the grave efface
What in us doth aspire!
So shall we nobler be than clay
And give a truth to “life for aye.”