THE GATEWAY OF THE GRAVE
The grave is deep and silent,
Its secret is its own;
It veils in sombre silence
A land to us unknown.
The warbling of the song-birds,
The sunshine all around,
The busy hum of commerce -
The grave heeds not their sound.
The widow and the orphan,
Whose tears fall down like rain,
Stand over it lamenting;
Their cries are all in vain!
The grave, still cold and silent,
Within its breast of clay,
Still grimly holds its secret
Until the judgment day.
Yet from no source so surely
Doth peace and comfort rise:
Only through its dark pathway
March we to Paradise.
The weary soul, so anxious,
With grief and toil opprest,
Finds peace within its portals,
And sweet, eternal rest.
