Where rest our loved ones in a deep repose
Unvexed by dreams of any earthly care,
And, checking not our tears, we breathe a prayer,
Grateful for even the comfort which is ours—
That we may kneel and sob our sorrow there,
And place the deathless leaf, the rarest flowers.
Though Winter's cruel fingers brown the sod,
It's dearer far than all the world beside!
Forms live again—we gaze in love and pride
On youthful faces prest close to our own.