Poems (Denver)/She is not dead: She sleepeth

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"SHE IS NOT DEAD: SHE SLEEPETH."
She is not dead: she only sleeps  Upon the green earth's tranquil breast, While eve's first star serenely keeps  Its quiet vigil o'er her rest. No sound disturbs her calm repose,  Sorrow and pain molest her not; She sleeps, secure from earthly woes, While angels guard the sacred spot.
Soon shall we see, even as we tread  With solemn steps that calm retreat,The wild-rose bloom above her head,  The grass grow greener at her feet. And soon, perchance, will hearts that mourn  For her now low within the tomb, To other joys triumphant turn,  With other hopes luxuriant bloom.
And yet we may not soon forget;  The true of heart can never die: Our memory sanctifies them yet,  The light of many a year gone by. ​A steadfast anchor to the soul,  When faith is weak and hope is vain, As turns the needle to the pole,  Our hearts return to them again.
She sleeps, but she will wake again,  Soon shall the darkness disappear; God never does His work in vain,  But brings it onward, year by year. She is not here, she lives above,  And soon this consecrated clay Shall join its holier part above, When angels roll the stone away.

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