God's acre wakes anew to poignant splendor. Each greening mound a dream of quickened hope, Aglow with magic tints, breath-taking, tender— Rose—lilac—crimson—heliotrope. And dainty shrubs, saluting idle breezes, Drop petal-snow upon the sacred sod, As baby-breath, in tiny feathered friezes, Lifts lacy fronds—mute, worshipping, to God. ... Each vernal resurrection brings to me, Triumphant proof of immortality. |