Mine be the breezy hill that skirts the down;
Where a green grassy turf is all I crave,
read more

Mine be the breezy hill that skirts the down;
Where a green grassy turf is all I crave,
With here and there a violet bestrown,
Fast by a brook or fountain's murmuring wave;
And many an evening sun shine sweetly on my grave.

He spake well who said that graves are the footprints of angels.

He spake well who said that graves are the footprints of angels.

The grave is still the best shelter against the storms of destiny.

The grave is still the best shelter against the storms of destiny.

Build me a shrine, and I could kneel
To rural Gods, or prostrate fall;
Did I not read more

Build me a shrine, and I could kneel
To rural Gods, or prostrate fall;
Did I not see, did I not feel.
That One Great Spirit governs all.
O Heaven, permit that I may lie
Where o'er my corse green branches wave;
And those who from life's tumults fly
With kindred feelings press my grave.

For I know that thou wilt bring me to death, and to the house
appointed for all living.

For I know that thou wilt bring me to death, and to the house
appointed for all living.

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.

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.

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.

Of all
The fools who flock'd to swell or see the show
Who car'd about the corpse? read more

Of all
The fools who flock'd to swell or see the show
Who car'd about the corpse? The funeral
Made the attraction, and the black the woe;
There throbb'd not there a thought which pierc'd the pall.