Voice from the Grave of a Sunday-school Teacher — Lydia Huntley Sigourney

Yes, this is holy ground,Lay me to slumber here,The cherish'd thoughts of early days,Have made this spot most dear,—Fast by the hallow'd churchWhere first I learned to prayIn faith, and penitence and peace,—Make ye my bed of clay.

Though life hath been to meA scene of joy and love,And sweet affections round my heartUnchanging garlands wove,Though knowledge in its powerAt studious midnight came,Enkindling in my raptur'd mind,A bright, unwavering flame;

Yet dearer far than all,Was Heaven's celestial lore:Then come, belov'd and youthful train,Who hear my voice no more,Come, sing the hymn I taught,Here, by my lowly bed,And with your Sabbath-lessons blendSweet memory of the dead.