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The grass grows green above their graves, Each year
its freshnes will unfoldAnd this is why loved ones lament,
For grief so deep will ne'er grow old.
The winds will waft their fragrance by,
But to hearts bereft by a cruel war, Sad, sad are the mem'ries they will waft,
As we think of the fields of human gore.
Yes, we heard a mother call,
'Twas in her silent midnight dream, For four whose forms had turned to dust,
Beside the onward rushing stream.
Some one had died; they wondered why!
The bell had tolled just forty-three,
Beloved by all, and young as she!
But some one heard her call the names
Of four she mourned and dearly loved; Then wonder why that mother fled,
And soared to rest with them above.
E are traveling, we are traveling,
Traveling through this vale of tears, To that undiscovered country,
Where there is no end of years.
We are looking, we are looking,
O’er a land by millions trod; Thinking of the generations
That have mouldered 'neath the sod.
We are standing, we are standing,
On a land to mortals given; But ere men have learned to live,
The clay and spirit, they are riven.
We are sighing, we are sighing,
For the loved ones that have fled; Those who sojourned in this vineyard,
But now are numbered with the dead.
We are thinking, we are thinking,
Of that boat upon the tide; Of the millions it has landed
Over on the other side.
We are watching, we are watching,
Watching as they pass along, O'er this rough and winding way,
Until they join that shining throng.
We are drawing, we are drawing,
Drawing nigh the golden walls, Where within the portals wide,
The everlasting sunshine falls.
UR days are short, our years are few,
Our path is steep and rough and wide, But there's a home that's free from toil;
It lies across that rolling tide
Some are cut down in early morn,
And borne across those waters deep, To join the great eternal throng,
Where angels do their vigils keep.
Some fall at noon when life is sweet;
The message is to all, “prepare, Obey the law that is divine,
Then you shall gain a home up there.”