| Andrew Macphail, comp. The Book of Sorrow. 1916. | | | XXIX. The Happy Dead
God’s-Acre | | By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807–1882) |
| | | I LIKE that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls | |
| The burial-ground God’s-Acre! It is just; | |
| It consecrates each grave within its walls, | |
| And breathes a benison o’er the sleeping dust. | |
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| God’s-Acre! Yes, that blessèd name imparts | 5 |
| Comfort to those who in the grave have sown | |
| The seed that they had garnered in their hearts, | |
| Their bread of life, alas! no more their own. | |
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| Into its furrows shall we all be cast, | |
| In the sure faith that we shall rise again | 10 |
| At the great harvest, when the archangel’s blast | |
| Shall winnow, like a fan, the chaff and grain. | |
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| Then shall the good stand in immortal bloom, | |
| In the fair gardens of that second birth, | |
| And each bright blossom mingle its perfume | 15 |
| With that of flowers which never bloomed on earth. | |
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| With thy rude ploughshare, Death, turn up the sod, | |
| And spread the furrow for the seed we sow; | |
| This is the field and Acre of our God, | |
| This is the place where human harvests grow! | 20 | | | |
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