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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The grave is still the best shelter against the storms of destiny.
The grave is still the best shelter against the storms of destiny.
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."
Here's an acre sown indeed,
With the richest royalest seed.
Here's an acre sown indeed,
With the richest royalest seed.
One foot in the grave.
One foot in the grave.
The grave's the market place.
The grave's the market place.
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.
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.
O how small a portion of earth will hold us when we are dead, who ambitiously seek after the whole read more
O how small a portion of earth will hold us when we are dead, who ambitiously seek after the whole world while we are living.
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.
