Mother’s Grave

O the sweet­est place in me­mo­ry

Is that lone­ly mound of earth

Where my mo­ther soft­ly slum­bers

Mother dear

who gave me birth;

Years have passed since she de­part­ed

From our midst at set of sun

Going to her home in Heav­en

For her earth­ly race was run.

O the dear­est place to me­mo­ry

Is that hill­side far away

Where she

sleep­ing ’neath the flow­ers

Waits the re­sur­rect­ion day.

Oft I wan­der to the hill­side

Sit be­side that grave so dear

Where I hear the songs of an­gels

And I feel their pre­sence near;

Scenes of earth fade in the dist­ance

And a glo­ri­ous host I see

There among the white robed ser­aphs

Mother dear

await­ing me.

So I jour­ney on in sad­ness

O’er life’s drea­ry

bar­ren waste

Cheered by thoughts of bless­èd meet­ing

As my steps to­ward Heav­en haste;

There some day I too shall en­ter

See my loved ones gone be­fore

There shall greet again that mo­ther

There abide for­ev­er­more.

So I think of that old church­yard

On the hill­side far away

And the form of that dear mo­ther

That we car­ried there one day;

Guarded still by God’s bright an­gels

Who their so­lemn vi­gils keep

Watching o’er her si­lent slum­ber

Dearest mo­ther’s gen­tle sleep.