THE OLD CHURCHYARD
O Come with me to the old churchyard
I well know the path through the soft greensward.
Friends slumber there we want to regard
We'll trace out their names in the old churchyard.
O mourn not for them for their grief is o'er
Weep not for them; they weep no more,
For deep is their sleep; though cold and hard
Their pillow may be in the old churchyard.
I know it seems vain when friends depart
To breath kind words to a broken heart,
I know that the joys of life seem hard,
When we follow our friends to the old churchyard.
But, were I at rest beneath yon tree
Why should you weep, dear friends, for me?
I'm very worn and sad, why then retard
The rest I seek in the old churchyard.
Our friends linger there in the sweetest repose
Released from the world's sad bereavement and woes,
And who would not rest with friends they regard
In quietude sweet in the old churchyard.
We'll rest in the hope of that bright day
When beauty shall spring from the prison of clay.
When Gabriel's trumpet and the voice of the Lord
Shall awaken the dead in the old churchyard.
O, weep not for me; I am anxious to go
To that haven of rest where life's tears never flow,
I fear not to enter that dark, lonely ward,
For soon I shall rise from the old churchyard.
Yes, soon I shall join that Heavenly band
of glorified souls at my Savior's right hand;
Forever to dwell in bright mansions prepared
For the Saints who shall rise from the old churchyard.
William Sanford ca 1773-1866
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