All dark to mortal eyes,
Save where, from out the gloom, faint stars appear.
She will not linger--haste and thou shalt see
From chaos order as thou drawest near.



Who in this new God's acre?


Who in this new God's acre first shall rest?
Or gallant youth, or baby from the breast?
Or age, beneath it's crown of snow-white hair?
Or queen of smiles and charms, some maiden fair?
Time only can the answer give--and God,
Who first shall lie beneath the upturned sod.

It matters not; whom e'er death first may reap
Here in a Father's arms shall quiet sleep,
The tender flowers shall grow above his head
And drink the dews that fall upon his bed.
The silent grave is safe from foolish sneer
And persecutor's rage is baffled here.

Who _first_ shall rest here? Ah! the days soon come,
When all the love of many a village home
Shall centre round this spot, where kith and kin
Are laid to rest, this virgin soil within.
From far and near men by the graves shall stand
Of friends who rest within the Better Land.