|Weep ye not for the dead, neither bemoan him| -- Jer.22:10.
|Ich weiss ein stilles, liebes Land.|
transl., Sarah Findlater, 1858
I know a sweet and silent spot,
And gladly there I stay,
Though many near me heed it not,
Or wish it far away.
'Tis but a narrow strip of land,
Hedged in, and decked with flowers;
Yet all round it tokens stand,
Of other world than ours.
These little mounds men scarcely see,
Nor dream of gold concealed;
But they are precious mines to me,
Where treasures vast are sealed.
Here, as beside some boundary-stone,
The child of troubled time
Looks upward, where his friends are gone,
And seeks their brighter clime.
Here, I have gathered strength and light
For all my future way;
Here, faith is nearly turned to sight,
And night almost to day.
And not afar, I see the day
Which daily draws more near
When passing friends shall pause, and say,
|Our brother's grave is here!|
But I'll have journeyed, glad and free,
Far from this silent spot,
While leaving to its sanctuary
What other's hands have brought;
And in my Father's happy land
Have met my own once more,
Where we shall scarcely understand
Why we have wept before.