Of dear departed ones; yet in that land,
Where’er our footsteps fall upon the shore,
They that were sleeping rise from out the dust
Of death’s long, silent years, and round us stand
As erst they did before the prison tomb
Received their clay within its voiceless halls.
The heavens that bend above that land are hung
With clouds of various hues. Some dark and chill,
Surcharged with sorrow, cast their sombre shade
Upon the sunny, joyous land below.