And little gravestones through the grass are gleaming,
Sown like the lilies over forms as fair,
Of whom to-day what broken hearts are dreaming
Through Sabbath song and prayer!
Peace to the sleepers! may the bud and blossom,
Spring’s early bloom and Summer’s sweet increase,
Fail not, while Nature on her tender bosom
Folds them and whispers, Peace!
And here at last who could not rest contented?
Beneath,—the river, with its tranquil flood;