46
THE ANCIENT MONUMENT.
Lo! the dust of the peasant is sleeping free
'Neath the holy shade of the church-yard tree:
Baron bold! is it well with thee?
I see on the scroll by thy couch of sleep,
The name of the Saviour engraven deep:
Was that thy chart when the sunbeam smiled?
Was that thine anchor when storms were wild?
When the shaft of the Spoiler had pierced thy heart,
Did it win the grief from that poison-dart?
Then, till the dawn of the day of doom,
Till the trump of the angel shall break the gloom,
Rest in the peace of the Christian's tomb.
