And choral hymnings swell the flood of sound,
That rose and fell through all the vaults around;
Or if beneath some village yew-tree’s shade,
The child of earth to his long rest were laid.
The marble tomb must yield its treasured trust,
The grass-grown grave give up the sleeping dust.
Mary Milner.
I like that ancient Saxon phrase which calls
The burial-ground, God’s Acre! It is just;
It consecrates each grave within its walls,