The Lonely Mound

Mark the lone­ly mound

Where the rank weeds wave;

Mortal

thou art bound

Hither

’tis the grave!

Tho’ no sculp­tured stone

None the tale re­veals;

Yet a spir­it tone

From be­neath it steals.

Listen! it de­clares

Here the wea­ry rest;

And its ten­ant fares

As a bid­den guest—

As a guest as­sured

Of a wel­come there

Free from toils en­dured

Sorrow

want and care.

Welcome

peace­ful bed!

When our camps ex­pire

Though no tears be shed

Though no tune­ful choir

Chant in mourn­ful strains

While around our bier;

Yet

a rest re­mains

Long de­nied us here.