The village church is passing gay,The bells gush out in merry tune,A flag is o'er the turret gray,The porch holds all the flowers of June:For Youth and Beauty come to wed,With bounding form and beaming eye—With all the rapture Love can shed,And all the hope that Gold can buy;And children twine with noisy glee,White favours round the cypress-tree.
An old man sitteth on a grave;His steps no more are firm and fast:And slenderly his white locks wave,As breeze and butterfly go past,A gentle smile lights up his face,And then he turns to gaze around;For he has come to choose the placeWhere he shall sleep in hallow'd ground:"Just by yon daisy patch," saith he,"'Tis there, 'tis there, I'd have it be."
The bridal hearts in triumph glow,With all the world before them yet;The old man's pulse beats calm and slow,Like sun rays, lengthening as they set.They see the fancied hours to come;He sees the real days gone by:They deem the earth a fairy home;He thinks it well that man should die.Oh goodly sight—it should be so—Youth glad to stay—age fit to go!
