Our life is gray, in silence down the aisles
The dead dreams slumber with their frozen smiles

And folded hands; while darkening year on year
Adds dust to gloom and seal to sepulchre.

A place to watch! If so some angel's tread
May stir the ashes where our loved lie dead;

Some censer kindle, or some seraph's hymn
Steal from the dawn adown the cloisters dim;

Till a soft splendor burns through all the tomb,
And tints the Parian with eternal bloom!