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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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.
We weep over the graves of infants and the little ones taken from us by death; but an early grave read more
We weep over the graves of infants and the little ones taken from us by death; but an early grave may be the shortest way to heaven.
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.
What's hallowed ground? Has earth a clod
Its Maker mean'd not should be trod
By man, the read more
What's hallowed ground? Has earth a clod
Its Maker mean'd not should be trod
By man, the image of his God,
Erect and free,
Unscourged by Superstition's rod.
One foot in the grave.
One foot in the grave.
The grave is Heaven's golden gate,
And rich and poor around it wait;
O Shepherdess of England's read more
The grave is Heaven's golden gate,
And rich and poor around it wait;
O Shepherdess of England's fold,
Behold this gate of pearl and gold!
- William Blake,
The solitary, silent, solemn scene,
Where Caesars, heroes, peasants, hermits lie,
Blended in dust together; where the read more
The solitary, silent, solemn scene,
Where Caesars, heroes, peasants, hermits lie,
Blended in dust together; where the slave
Rests from his labors; where th' insulting proud
Resigns his powers; the miser drops his hoard:
Where human folly sleeps.
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.
He spake well who said that graves are the footprints of angels.
He spake well who said that graves are the footprints of angels.
