Untouched by the finger of Time’s decay.
When they drew him up to the light of day,
The wondering people gathered ’round
To gaze at the man thus strangely found.
Then a woman came from among the crowd,
With her long white hair and her slight form bowed.
She silently knelt by the form of clay,
And kissed the lips that were cold and gray.
Then, the sad old face, with its snowy hair
On his youthful bosom lay pillowed there.