| Hamilton Fish Armstrong, ed. The Book of New York Verse. 1917. | | | | In Trinity Churchyard at Sunset | | By Thomas S. Jones, Jr. |
| | | HOW still they sleep within the city moil | |
| In their old churchyard with its sighing trees, | |
| Where sometimes through the din a twilight breeze | |
| Makes one forget the busy streets of toil; | |
| But they have little thought of worldly spoil | 5 |
| Or the great gain of mortal victories, | |
| Their hopes, their dreams, are cold and dead as these | |
| Quaint, time-worn gravestones crumbling on the soil. | |
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| Yet they once lived and struggled years ago; | |
| Their hearts beat madly as these hearts of ours— | 10 |
| And now is all undone in dreamless rest? | |
| See, a great city stands against the glow— | |
| Their city, they who here beneath the flowers | |
| Have known so long God’s gift of peace, most blest! | | | | |
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