What's hallowed ground? Has earth a clod
Its Maker meant not should be trod
By man, the image of his God,
Erect and free,
Unscourged by superstition's rod
To bow the knee?
What hallows ground where heroes sleep?
'Tis not the sculptured piles you heap,
In dews that Heavens far distant weep,
Their turf may bloom,