Читать книгу Poems - Julia C. R. Dorr - Страница 20

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Ye Pines, with solemn grandeur crowned, Put on your priestly robes to-day; Henceforth ye stand on holy ground, Where Love and Death hold equal sway.

Lift up to Heaven each crested head, And raise your giant arms on high, And swear that o’er our slumbering dead Ye will keep watch and ward for aye.

For month by month, and year by year, While shine the stars, and rolls the sea, Our silent ones shall gather here, To rest beneath the greenwood tree.

Here no rude sight nor sound shall break The calmness of their last, long sleep, And Earth and Heaven, for Love’s sweet sake, Shall o’er them ceaseless vigils keep.

Our silent ones! Their very dust Is precious in our longing eyes; O, guard ye well the sacred trust, Till God’s own voice shall bid them rise!