Stanzas.—The Tomb

Few years ago I shunn'd the tomb,And turn'd me from a tablet-stone;I shiver'd in the churchyard gloom,And sicken'd at a bleaching bone.

Then all were round my warm young heart—The kindred tie—the cherish'd form;I knew not what it was to part,And give them to the dust and worm.

But soon I lost the gems of earth,I saw the dearest cold in death:And sorrow changed my joyous mirthTo searing drops and sobbing breath.

I stood by graves all dark and deep,Pale, voiceless, rapt in mute despair;I left my soul's adored to sleepIn stirless, dreamless slumber there.

And now I steal at night to seeThe soft clear moonbeams playing o'erTheir hallow'd beds, and long to beWhere all most prized have gone before.

Now I can calmly gaze aroundOn osier'd heaps, with yearning eye,And murmur o'er the grassy mound—"'Tis a glorious privilege to die!"

The grave hath lost its conquering might,And death its dreaded sting of pain,Since they but ope the path of lightTo lead me to the loved again.