Falls in floods of cloudless light,
Bathing many a turfy heap
Where the lowlier slumberers sleep;
And the graceful willow waves,
Banner-like, o’er nameless graves:
Here hath prayer arisen like dew,—
Here the earth is holy, too,
Lightly press each grassy mound:
Surely this is hallowed ground.
M. A. Browne.