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.