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THERE LET HIM SWEETLY SLEEP.
Kiss the cold cheek, so pale and fair,
In silent sorrow weep. Fold his bronzed hands upon his breast, And when the day fades in the west, Under the green turf let him rest,
In calm, unbroken sleep.
IV.
Hollow his grave where the green sod, By traitor's feet has ne'er been trod, Where sweet flowers are the smile of God,
For the patriot, pure and true. There let a graceful, fadeless tree, Emblem of hope and liberty, Arise ; his epitaph shall be
Sweet flowers, red, white, and blue.
v. Bury him where the brook shall sing His requiem, and returning spring Shall come with bloom and rustling wing,
Each season from her throne ; And Heaven shall watch with starry eyes, That sleep not in the stooping skies, The tomb to which an angel flies
To roll away the stone. 7 |
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