I gazed upon the glorious sky
And the green mountains round,
And thought that when I came to lie
At rest within the ground,
'Twere pleasant, that in flowery June
When brooks send up a cheerful tune,
And groves a joyous sound,
The sexton's hand, my grave to make,
The rich, green mountain-turf should break.
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A grave, wherever found, preaches a short and pithy sermon to the soul.
A grave, wherever found, preaches a short and pithy sermon to the soul.
Nigh to a grave that was newly made,
Leaned a sexton old on his earth-worn spade.
Nigh to a grave that was newly made,
Leaned a sexton old on his earth-worn spade.
By Nebo's lonely mountain,
On this side Jordan's wave,
In a vale in the land of Moab,
read more
By Nebo's lonely mountain,
On this side Jordan's wave,
In a vale in the land of Moab,
There lies a lonely grave;
But no man built that sepulcher,
And no man saw it e'er,
For the angels of God upturned the sod
And laid the dead man there.
Perhaps the early grave
Which men weep over may be meant to save.
Perhaps the early grave
Which men weep over may be meant to save.
Who comes with Summer to this earth
And owes to June her day of birth,
With ring read more
Who comes with Summer to this earth
And owes to June her day of birth,
With ring of Agate on her hand,
Can health, wealth, and long life command.
The grave's the market place.
The grave's the market place.
What joy have I in June's return?
My feet are parched--my eyeballs burn,
I scent no flowery read more
What joy have I in June's return?
My feet are parched--my eyeballs burn,
I scent no flowery gust;
But faint the flagging zephyr springs,
With dry Macadam on its wings,
And turns me "dust to dust."
June falls asleep upon her bier of flowers;
In vain are dewdrops sprinkled o'er her,
In vain read more
June falls asleep upon her bier of flowers;
In vain are dewdrops sprinkled o'er her,
In vain would fond winds fan her back to life,
Her hours are numbered on the floral dial.
He that unburied lies wants not his hearse,
For unto him a tomb's the Universe.
He that unburied lies wants not his hearse,
For unto him a tomb's the Universe.
