The Nameless Grave.

WRITTEN IN COVE CHURCH-YARD; AND OCCASIONED BY OBSERVING MY OWN SHADOW THROWN ACROSS A GRAVE.


    "Tell me, thou grassy mound,
        What dost thou cover?
    In thy folds hast thou bound
        Soldier or lover?
Time o'er the turf no memorial is keeping
Who in this lone grave forgotten is sleeping?"--

    "The sun's westward ray
        A dark shadow has thrown
    On this dwelling of clay,
        And the shade is thine own!
From dust and oblivion this stern lesson borrow--
Thou art living to-day and forgotten to-morrow!"

Susanna Moodie

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Susanna Moodie

Lines Written Amidst The Ruins Of A Church On The Coast Of Suffolk.

Susanna Moodie, Simple Poetry

There's Joy, &C.

Susanna Moodie, Simple Poetry

The Reapers' Song.

Susanna Moodie, Simple Poetry

Songs Of The Hours.

Susanna Moodie, Simple Poetry

English

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Lines Written Amidst The Ruins Of A Church On The Coast Of Suffolk.

"What hast thou seen in the olden time,
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"Full many a race from thy native clime,
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The organ has pealed in these roofless aisles,
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"I've seen the strong man a wailing child,
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"I've seen the stern reformer scorn
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So passes silent o'er the dead thy shade,
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And have not they, who here forgotten lie
(Say, hoary chronicler of ages past!)
Once marked thy shadow with delighted eye,
Nor thought it fled, how certain, and how fast!

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I heard the village bells, with gladso...

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The Little Grave.

I.

    A little mound of earth
    Is all the land I own:
    Death gave it me, - five feet by three,
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II.

    My home, my garden-grave,
    Where most I long to go!
    The ground is mine by right divine,
    And Heaven will have it so.


III.

    For here my darling sleeps,
    Unseen, - arrayed in white, -
    And o'er the grass the breezes pass,
    And stars look down at night.


IV.

    Here Beauty, Love, and Joy,
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    Of kings remember'd well.


V.

    But here let no man come,
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Our ancient church! its lowly tower,
Beneath the loftier spire,
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Like Sentinel and Nun, they keep
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The stranger parts the flaunting weeds,
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So thick, beneath the line he reads,
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Erewhile, on England's pleasant shores, our sires
Left not their churchyards unadorned with shades
Or blossoms; and indulgent to the strong
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Its frost and silence, they disposed around,
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'Tis a bleak wild hill, but green and bright
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And the shade of the beech lies cool on the rock,
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Far yonder, where orchards and gardens lie,
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