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| ON this sweet Sabbath morning, let us wander | |
| From the loud music and the gay parade, | |
| Where sleeps the graveyard, in its silence, yonder, | |
| Deep in the mountain shade. | |
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| There, side by side, the dark green cedars cluster, | 5 |
| Like sentries watching by that camp of Death; | |
| There, like an army’s tents, with snow-white lustre, | |
| The gravestones gleam beneath. | |
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| But, as we go, no posted guard or picket | |
| Stays our approach across the level grass, | 10 |
| Nor hostile challenge at the simple wicket | |
| Through which our footsteps pass. | |
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| Sweet spot, by Nature’s primal consecration, | |
| Sacred to peace and thought and calm repose, | |
| Well in thy breast that elder generation | 15 |
| Their place of burial chose. | |
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| And well, to-day, whene’er the sad procession | |
| Moves o’er the plain, with slow and measured tread, | |
| Within thy silent and secure possession | |
| The living leave the dead. | 20 |
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| Few are the graves, for here no populous city | |
| Feeds, with its myriad lives, the hungry Fates, | |
| While hourly funerals, led by grief or pity, | |
| Crowd through the open gates. | |
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| Here Death is rarer, yet full many a token | 25 |
| Tells of his presence, on these grassy slopes,— | |
| The slab, the stone, the shaft, half reared and broken, | |
| Symbol of shattered hopes. | |
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| Here sleep brave men who, in the deadly quarrel, | |
| Fought for their country, and their life-blood poured, | 30 |
| Above whose dust she carves the deathless laurel | |
| Wreathing the victor’s sword. | |
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| And here the young cadet, in manly beauty, | |
| Borne from the tents which skirt those rocky banks, | |
| Called from life’s daily drill and perilous duty | 35 |
| To these unbroken ranks. | |
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| Here too the aged man, the wife, the maiden, | |
| Together hushed, as on His faithful breast, | |
| Who cried, “Come hither, all ye heavy-laden, | |
| And I will give you rest!” | 40 |
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| And little gravestones through the grass are gleaming, | |
| Sown, like the lilies, over forms as fair, | |
| Of whom, to-day, what broken hearts are dreaming, | |
| Through Sabbath song and prayer. | |
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| Peace to the sleepers! may the bud and blossom, | 45 |
| Spring’s early bloom and Summer’s sweet increase, | |
| Fail not, while Nature, on her tender bosom, | |
| Folds them and whispers, Peace! | |
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| And here at last who could not rest contented? | |
| Beneath,—the river, with its tranquil flood; | 50 |
| Around,—the breezes of the morning, scented | |
| With odors from the wood; | |
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| Above,—the eternal hills, their shadows blending | |
| With morn and noon and twilight’s deepening pall; | |
| And overhead,—the infinite heavens, attending | 55 |
| Until the end of all! | |
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