god's acre.
51
The hush of peace, of perfect peace, is here,
No sound disturbs the stillness, strangely still,
Save song of birds; no sign of life is near,
Save reapers busy on a distant hill.
No sound disturbs the stillness, strangely still,
Save song of birds; no sign of life is near,
Save reapers busy on a distant hill.
And as I pause by one familiar tomb—
Where marguerites in snowy vesture drest,
In all their loveliness unsullied bloom—
Wondering if they, the sleepers, are at rest.
Where marguerites in snowy vesture drest,
In all their loveliness unsullied bloom—
Wondering if they, the sleepers, are at rest.
Sweet Eva, clinging to her father's hand,
Her brows bound round with flowers of Paradise,
Comes smilingly from out the Shadowland,
The light of life immortal in her eyes.
Her brows bound round with flowers of Paradise,
Comes smilingly from out the Shadowland,
The light of life immortal in her eyes.
Time was I would have shrank in awe and fear
From the abode of death, as one of gloom;
But now I love to sit and linger here
Knowing 'God's Acre' is the ante-room
From the abode of death, as one of gloom;
But now I love to sit and linger here
Knowing 'God's Acre' is the ante-room
That opens into Life's great entrance hall,
And here our friends must wait, and lay aside
Their outer garments, ere the Master's call
Shall summon them to rise, and 'Come inside.'
And here our friends must wait, and lay aside
Their outer garments, ere the Master's call
Shall summon them to rise, and 'Come inside.'
