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O'erwhelming tumuli, alike, call forth
That great unnumbered family to whom
He gave the “living soul” which never dies.
But yet these human feelings yearn to give
The quiet solitude, the lonely bower,
The peaceful tomb, as our last duteous boon,
Where the dead sleep, the living weep unseen.
Nor does the christian's faith such cares forbid,
For she who came, with alabaster box,
Ta anoint her Saviour's feet, was praised-albeit
She did it as a funeral rite; and he
Who placed his Lord in the new sepulchre
“Where man had never laid,” and wrapt his corpse
In costly ligaments, unto this hour
Is blessed for the deed. The Patriarch thus
Purchased a tomb for his beloved wife,
And thither were his pious offspring borne
From distant lands, to blend with kindred dust.

Such cares belong unto the better part
Of our frail nature, and warm thanks are due
To those who form such garden, and such grave,
For pure affection's solace, which beholds
In each green leaf that springs, each bud that bursts
Its fragile cerements, foretaste of that hour,
Foretold to faith in God's eternal word,
When “these dry bones shall live.” Then the last trump
Shall wake the imprisoned ones,and each green mound,
Or monumental stone, with being rife,
Heave from their bosoms a redundant throng
Of beings bright with glory-yet distinct-
“As one star from another differeth” though all
Are rich in pure effulgence — for their robes

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