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FONTSTOWN.
And softly trace, with silent tread,
The precincts of the sacred dead.
The precincts of the sacred dead.
No gloomy shadows here are thrown,
No marble urn, no sculptured stone;
But flowers and trees alone disclose
Where here they seek their last repose;
No marble urn, no sculptured stone;
But flowers and trees alone disclose
Where here they seek their last repose;
While, pointing to that heaven above,
Where disembodied spirits rove,
No more to suffer or to die,
The church erects its spire on high;
Where disembodied spirits rove,
No more to suffer or to die,
The church erects its spire on high;
And, just beyond the grassy mound
Which marks the church-yard's hallowed ground,
The rural school-house quiet stands,
And our admiring gaze commands.
Which marks the church-yard's hallowed ground,
The rural school-house quiet stands,
And our admiring gaze commands.
Each passing stranger's rapid glance
Attests its taste and elegance;
May peace and love within it dwell!
Fontstown! sweet Fontstown! fare thee well.
Attests its taste and elegance;
May peace and love within it dwell!
Fontstown! sweet Fontstown! fare thee well.
