Of double depth they made her grave,
And covered it with massive stone,
And there, where silvery birches wave,
They left her sleeping all alone.
These words were chiselled on her tomb:
“This grave, bought for eternity,
Even to and through the day of doom,
And ever, shall unopened be.”
For years the passing stranger saw
The epitaph of Caroline,
And wondered, with a shuddering awe,
That it could dare the wrath divine.
Time is of God. He does not need
To work his purpose in an hour:
Years came and went, and then a seed,
Borne downwards by a summer shower,
Fell gently on the scanty earth.
Among the heaped-up stones that lay,
And soon a tiny birch had birth,
And grew in stature day by day.
The sun, the shower, the passing wind,
All helped the youthful tree to grow;
Its little roots ran far to find
Subsistence in the depths below.
Years passed, until at last the tree
Sundered the stones, and made the grave
Yawn wide, that hoped eternally
The ravages of Time to brave.
Vain was the exercise of skill
To seal the grave of Caroline;
And vain is every human will
That strives to break the law divine.