| And he buried him in a valley in the land of Moab, over against Beth-peor; but no man knoweth of his sepulcher unto this day.|
Deut. XXXIV. 6.
By Nebos lonely mountain,
On this side Jordans 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 eer,
For the angels of God upturned the sod
And laid the dead man there.
Cecil Frances AlexanderBurial of Moses.
|Inn of a traveller on his way to Jerusalem.|
Translation of the Latin on the monument of Dean Alford. St. Martins Churchyard, Canterbury.
|Mine be the breezy hill that skirts the down;|
Where a green grassy turf is all I crave,
With here and there a violet bestrewn,
Fast by a brook or fountains murmuring wave;
And many an evening sun shine sweetly on my grave!
BeattieThe Minstrel. Bk. II. St. 17.
|Heres an acre sown indeed,|
With the richest royalest seed.
Francis Beaumont. On the Tombs in Westminster Abbey.
|One foot in the grave.|
Beaumont and FletcherThe Little French Lawyer. Act I. Sc. 1.
|See yonder maker of the dead mans bed,|
The sexton, hoary-headed chronicle,
Of hard, unmeaning face, down which neer stole
A gentle tear.
BlairThe Grave. L. 451.
| The grave, dread thing!|
Men shiver when thourt named: Nature appalled,
Shakes off her wonted firmness.
|Nigh to a grave that was newly made,|
Leaned a sexton old on his earth-worn spade.
Park BenjaminThe Old Sexton.
|The grave is Heavens golden gate,|
And rich and poor around it wait;
O Shepherdess of Englands fold,
Behold this gate of pearl and gold!
Wm. BlakeDedication of the Designs to Blairs Grave. To Queen Charlotte.
|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 oer my corse green branches wave;
And those who from lifes tumults fly
With kindred feelings press my grave.
BloomfieldLove of the Country. St. 4.
|Gravestones tell truth scarce forty years.|
Sir Thomas BrowneHydriotaphia. Ch. V.
|He that unburied lies wants not his hearse,|
For unto him a tombs the Universe.
Sir Thomas BrowneReligio Medici. Pt. I. Sec. XLI.
|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 sextons hand, my grave to make,
The rich, green mountain turf should break.
| I would rather sleep in the southern corner of a little country churchyard, than in the tombs of the Capulets.|
BurkeLetter to Matthew Smith.
| Perhaps the early grave|
Which men weep over may be meant to save.
ByronDon Juan. Canto IV. St. 12.
| Of all|
The fools who flockd to swell or see the show
Who card about the corpse? The funeral
Made the attraction, and the black the woe;
There throbbd not there a thought which piercd the pall.
ByronVision of Judgment. St. 10.
|Whats hallowd ground? Has earth a clod|
Its Maker meand not should be trod
By man, the image of his God,
Erect and free,
Unscourged by Superstitions rod
To bow the knee.
|But an untimely grave.|
CarewOn the Duke of Buckingham.
|The graves the market place.|
Death and the Lady. Ballad in Dixons Ballads. The Percy Society.
|The solitary, silent, solemn scene,|
Where Cæsars, 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.
DyerRuins of Rome. L. 540.
|Etsi alterum pedem in sepulchro haberem.|
(Julian would learn something) even if he had one foot in the grave.
Erasmus. Quoting Pomponius, of Julian. Original phrase one foot in the ferry boat, meaning Charons boat.
|Alas, poor Tom! how oft, with merry heart,|
Have we beheld thee play the Sextons part;
Each comic heart must now be grieved to see
The Sextons dreary part performed on thee.
Robert FergussonEpigram on the Death of Mr. Thomas Lancashire, Comedian.
|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 countrys blood.
GrayElegy in a Country Churchyard.
|The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power,|
And all that beauty, all that wealth eer gave,
Await alike th inevitable hour,
The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
GrayElegy in a Country Churchyard.
|Fond fool! six feet shall serve for all thy store,|
And he that cares for most shall find no more.
Joseph HallSatires. No. III. Second Series.
|Such graves as his are pilgrim shrines,|
Shrines to no code or creed confined,
The Delphian vales, the Palestines,
The Meccas of the mind.
Fitz-Greene HalleckBurns. St. 32.
|Green be the turf above thee,|
Friend of my better days;
None knew thee but to love thee
Nor named thee but to praise.
Fitz-Greene HalleckOn the death of J. R. Drake.
|Graves they say are warmd by glory;|
Foolish words and empty story.
HeineLatest Poems. Epilogue. L. 1.
|Where shall we make her grave?|
Oh! where the wild flowers wave
In the free air!
When shower and singing-bird
Midst the young leaves are heard,
Therelay her there!
Felicia D. HemansDirge. Where Shall we Make her Grave?
|A piece of a Churchyard fits everybody.|
|The house appointed for all living.|
Job. XXX. 23.
|Teach me to live that I may dread|
The grave as little as my bed.
Bishop KenEvening Hymn. The same is found in Thomas BrowneReligio Medici. Both are taken from the old Hymni Ecclesesiæ.
|Then to the grave I turned me to see what therein lay;|
Twas the garment of the Christian, worn out and thrown away.
KrummacherDeath and the Christian.
|I like that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls|
The burial-ground Gods Acre. It is just.
|This is the field and Acre of our God,|
This is the place where human harvests grow!
|I see their scattered gravestones gleaming white|
Through the pale dusk of the impending night.
Oer all alike the imperial sunset throws
Its golden hues mingled with the rose;
We give to each a tender thought and pass
Out of the graveyards with their tangled grass.
LongfellowMorituri Salutamus. L. 120.
|Take them, O Grave! and let them lie|
Folded upon thy narrow shelves,
As garments by the soul laid by,
And precious only to ourselves!
|There are slave-drivers quietly whipped underground,|
There bookbinders, done up in boards, are fast bound,
There card-players wait till the last trump be played,
There all the choice spirits get finally laid,
There the babe thats unborn is supplied with a berth,
There men without legs get their six feet of earth,
There lawyers repose, each wrapped up in his case,
There seekers of office are sure of a place,
There defendant and plaintiff get equally cast,
There shoemakers quietly stick to the last.
LowellFables for Critics. L. 1,656.
|As life runs on, the road grows strange|
With faces new,and near the end
The milestones into headstones change:
Neath every one a friend.
Lowell. Written on his 68th birthday.
| We should teach our children to think no more of their bodies when dead than they do of their hair when cut off, or of their old clothes when they have done with them.|
George MacDonaldAnnals of a Quiet Neighborhood. P. 481.
| Your seventh wife, Phileros, is now being buried in your field. No mans field brings him greater profit than yours, Phileros.|
MartialEpigrams. Bk. X. Ep. 43.
|And so sepulchred in such pomp dost lie;|
That kings for such a tomb would wish to die.
MiltonEpitaph on Shakespeare.
|There is a calm for those who weep,|
A rest for weary pilgrims found,
They softly lie and sweetly sleep
Low in the ground.
| (Bodies) carefully to be laid up in the wardrobe of the grave.|
Bishop PearsonExposition of the Creed. Article IV.
Food of Acheron. (Grave.)
PlautusCasina. Act II. Sc. 1. L. 11.
|Yet shall thy grave with rising flowrs be dressed,|
And the green turf lie lightly on thy breast;
There shall the morn her earliest tears bestow,
There the first roses of the year shall blow.
PopeElegy on an Unfortunate Lady. L. 65.
|The grave unites; where een the great find rest,|
And blended lie th oppressor and th oppressed!
PopeWindsor Forest. L. 317.
|Ruhe eines Kirchhofs!|
The churchyards peace.
SchillerDon Carlos. III. 10. 220.
|Never the grave gives back what it has won!|
SchillerFuneral Fantasy. Last line.
|To that dark inn, the Grave!|
ScottThe Lord of the Isles. VI. L. 26.
| Bear from hence his body:|
And mourn you for him: let him be regarded
As the most noble corse that ever herald
Did follow to his urn.
Coriolanus. Act V. Sc. 6. L. 143.
| The sepulchre,|
Wherein we saw thee quietly inurnd,
Hath opd his ponderous and marble jaws.
Hamlet. Act I. Sc. 4. L. 48.
|They bore him barefacd on the bier;|
* * * * *
And in his grave raind many a tear.
Hamlet. Act IV. Sc. 5. L. 164.
| Lay her i the earth;|
And from her fair and unpolluted flesh
May violets spring!
Hamlet. Act V. Sc. 1. L. 261.
| Has this fellow no feeling of his business that he sings at grave-making?|
Custom hath made it in him a property of easiness.
Hamlet. Act V. Sc. 1. L. 73.
|Gilded tombs do worms infold.|
Merchant of Venice. Act II. Sc. 7. L. 69.
|Lets choose executors and talk of wills:|
And yet not so, for what can we bequeath
Save our deposed bodies to the ground?
Richard II. Act III. Sc. 2. L. 148.
|Taking the measure of an unmade grave.|
Romeo and Juliet. Act III. Sc. 3. L. 70.
|The lone couch of his everlasting sleep.|
ShelleyAlastor. L. 57.
|O heart, and mind, and thoughts! what thing do you|
Hope to inherit in the grave below?
ShelleySonnet. Ye Hasten to the Dead!
| The grave|
Is but the threshold of eternity.
SoutheyVision of the Maid of Orleans. Bk. II. (Originally the 9th book of Joan of Arc; later published as separate poem.)
|There is an acre sown with royal seed.|
Jeremy TaylorHoly Living and Dying. Ch. I.
|Kings have no such couch as thine,|
As the green that folds thy grave.
TennysonA Dirge. St. 6.
|Our fathers dust is left alone|
And silent under other snows.
TennysonIn Memoriam. Pt. CV.
|Hark! from the tombs a doleful sound.|
WattsHymns and Spiritual Songs. Funeral Thoughts. Bk. II. Vol. IX. Hymn 63.
The low green tent|
Whose curtain never outward swings.
|But the grandsires chair is empty,|
The cottage is dark and still;
Theres a nameless grave on the battle-field,
And a new one under the hill.
Wm. WinterAfter All.
In shepherds phrase|
With one foot in the grave.