THE HAUNTED HOUSE.
See the grass upon its threshold;
See the ivy on its wall;
Vacant are its crumbling windows,
Vacant is its mossy hall.
Ah! the step of man upon it
Shall resound along no more,
For the spirits of the dead ones
Ever flit about the door.
There the whisperings of the voices
Of the spirits of the dead;
Those of friends and enemies
Ever murmur ’round your head.
Let us leave the haunted ruin;
Spirits walk the crumbling floor;
Light their step, but oh! their voices
Haunt the building evermore.
THE KINGDOM OF THE DEAD.
Peaceful be for we have reached it
Lighter, lighter ever tread,
’Tis a sacred spot and hallowed:
’Tis the kingdom of the dead.
Silent kingdom, sad and lonely,
Though so many in it dwell.
Who can number all its people?
Who, ah! who can ever tell?
Still and peaceful is their resting
In their last and humble bed.
Tread ye lightly, ’tis the kingdom
Of the sacred holy dead.