Its Autumn sheaves all gathered in
Its flame to ashes burned.
I still would ask thy ministry.
Come to my grave and sing to me
Creation's sweetest melody
That man has never learned.
Its flame to ashes burned.
I still would ask thy ministry.
Come to my grave and sing to me
Creation's sweetest melody
That man has never learned.
Though far away, I may not hear,
Yet sweet will be the thought
That they who nearest Heaven soar,
From earth's green fields and wave-beat shore,
Still sing to me when life is o'er
And others have forgot.
Yet sweet will be the thought
That they who nearest Heaven soar,
From earth's green fields and wave-beat shore,
Still sing to me when life is o'er
And others have forgot.
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