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.