OUR DEAD

We bury our dead, We lay them to sleep With the earth for their bed, With stones at their head:

We leave them and weep When we bury our dead. We bury our dead, We lay them to sleep,—

On our Mother's calm breast We leave them to rest — To rest while we weep. We bury our dead,

We lay them to sleep — They reck not our tears, Though the sad years creep — Through our tears, through the years

They tranquilly sleep. We bury our dead, We lay them to sleep; We bury the bloom

Of our life,— all our bloom In the coffin we fold: We enfold in the tomb: We reenter the room

We left young,— we are old. We bury our dead, We lay them to sleep; The cold Time-tides flow

With winter and spring, With birds on the wing, With roses and snow, With friends who beguile

Our sorrow with pity — With pity awhile. Then weary and smile, Then chide us, say, “Lo!

How the sun shines,—‘ t is May.” But we know‘ t is not so — That the sun died that day When we laid them away,

With the earth for a bed — When we buried our dead. We bury our dead, We lay them to sleep;

We turn back to the world; We are caught,— we are whirled In the rush of the current — The rush and the sweep

Of the tide, without rest. But they sleep — they the blest — The Blessed dead sleep: They tranquilly rest

On our Mother's calm breast.