By Nebo's lonely mountain,
On this side Jordan's wave,
In a vale in the land of Moab,
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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.

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.

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.

An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave; legions of angels can't confine me there.

An angel's arm can't snatch me from the grave; legions of angels can't confine me there.

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.

Some village Hampden, that, with dauntless breast,
The little tyrant of his fields withstood,
Some mute inglorious read more

Some village Hampden, that, with dauntless breast,
The little tyrant of his fields withstood,
Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest,
Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood.

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.

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.

The grave, dread thing!
Men shiver when thou'rt named: Nature appalled,
Shakes off her wonted firmness.

The grave, dread thing!
Men shiver when thou'rt named: Nature appalled,
Shakes off her wonted firmness.