Mount Auburn

"There was a garden, and in the garden a new sepulchre." What myriads throng, in proud array, With songs of joy, and flags unfurled, To consecrate the glorious day, That gave a nation to the world!

We raise no shout, no trumpet sound, No banner to the breeze we spread; Children of clay! bend humbly round; We plant a City to the Dead.

For man a garden rose in bloom, When you glad sun began to burn; He fell, — and heard the awful doom, — "Of dust thou art, — to dust return!"

But He, in whose pure faith we come, Who in a gloomier garden lay, Assured us of a brighter home, And rose, and led the glorious way.

His word we trust! When life shall end, Here be our long, long slumber passed; To the first garden's doom we bend, And bless the promise of the last.