Poems (Jackson)/A Burial Service

by Helen Hunt Jackson

A BURIAL SERVICE.

O this buryingWe come alone,—you and I,—not with our dead,But with our dearest living; O could mortal tread        Be unfaltering!

        God knows how we love it,This we have come to bury; the eyes smile,—life's best wineThe hands hold out! Darling, shall it be yours, or mine,        To lay the first sod above it?

        But no decayingCan reach it in this sepulchre, whose stoneOur hearts must make! To an exceeding glory grown,        This grief, outweighing,

        Not even regretting,It will await us! Thank God, not being sownIn any dishonor, it will await its own,        Never forgetting!

        To Chris's protectionNow let us leave it,—the tomb and the key!Will remember us, if there may ever be        Resurrection!