Thou art gone to the grave; but we will not deplore thee, Though sorrows and darkness encompass the tomb. - Reginald Heber

With drooping bells of clearest blue
Thou didst attract my childish view,
Almost resembling
The azure butterflies that flew
Where on the heath thy blossoms grew
So lightly trembling.

Beneath our feet and o'er our head Is equal warning given: Beneath us lie the countless dead, Above us is the heaven! Death rides on every passing breeze, And lurks in every flower; Each season has its own disease, Its peril every hour.

The Son of God goes forth to war, A kingly crown to gain;
His blood red banner streams afar: Who follows in His train?
Who best can drink his cup of woe, Triumphant over pain,
Who patient bears his cross below, He follows in His train.