O the grave is a quiet place, my dear, So still and so quiet by night and by day,Reached by no sound either joyous or drear, But keeping its silence alway, alway.
O the grave is a restful place, my dear, Unvext by the weightiest loss or gain,All the undone work of the speeding year May beat at its portals in vain, in vain.
O the grave is a tender place, my dear, The Love immortal, the faith, the trust,The grace and the beauty, lie buried there, So pure and so white in a robe of dust.
O the grave is a home-like place, my dear, Where we all do gather when day is done,Where the earth mother folds us close and near, And the latch string waits for the laggard one.
