And the gravestones watch o’er their dead alone.
Oh, how oft I’ve passed thro’ the spacious aisle
And have met the throng with a friendly smile;
In the bygone days when I saw them kneel,
When I felt the thrill of the organ’s peal;
But the forms I knew enter here no more,
And no footsteps fall on the mouldy floor;
There’s but one thing left that with life I’ve seen—
’Tis the faithful vine of the ivy green.
—Geo. M. Vickers.