What's hallowed ground! Has earth a clod
Its Maker meant not should be trod
By man, the image of his God,
Erect and free,
Unscourged by Superstition's rod
To bow the knee?
That's hallowed ground—where mourned and missed,
The lips repose our love has kissed;—
But where's their memory's mansion? Is 't
Yon churchyard's bowers?
No; in ourselves their souls exist,
A part of ours.
What hallows ground where heroes sleep?
'T is not the sculptured piles you heap!
In dews that heavens far distant weep,
Their turf may bloom;
Or genii twine beneath the deep
Their coral tomb.
But strew his ashes to the wind
Whose sword or voice has served mankind—And
is he dead, whose glorious mind
Lifts thine on high?
To live in hearts we leave behind
Is not to die.
Is 't death to fall for freedom's right?
He's dead alone that lacks her light!
And murder sullies in Heaven's sight
The sword he draws:—
What can alone ennoble fight?
A noble cause!
Give that! and welcome war to brace
Her drums! and rend heaven's reeking space!
The colors painted face to face,
The charging cheer,
Though Death's pale horse led on the chase,
Shall still be dear!
And place our trophies where men kneel
To Heaven!—but Heaven rebukes my zeal!
The cause of truth and human weal,
O God above!
Transfer it from the sword's appeal
To peace and love!
Peace, love! the cherubim, that join
Their spread wings o'er devotion's shrine;—
Prayers sound in vain, and temples shine
Where they are not;—
The heart alone can make divine
Religion's spot.
To incantations dost thou trust,
And pompous rites in domes august?
See mouldering stones and metals' rust
Belie the vaunt,
That man can bless one pile of dust
With chime or chant.
Fair stars! are not your beings pure?
Can sin, can death your worlds obscure?
Else why so swell the thoughts at your
Aspect above?
Ye must be Heaven's that make us sure
Of heavenly love!