Over a Grave
Though underneath the silent clod
Thy body rests—thy soul with God
Doth mount on wings of prayer and praise,
To swell the measure of thy days.
Even though the grass is tall and green,
That grows thy heart and mine between,
Even though thy face be hid from me,
My Father's will I clearly see.
Thy body rests—thy soul with God
Doth mount on wings of prayer and praise,
To swell the measure of thy days.
Even though the grass is tall and green,
That grows thy heart and mine between,
Even though thy face be hid from me,
My Father's will I clearly see.
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