August 2, 1826.
Unveil thy bosom, faithful tomb,
Take this new treasure to thy trust;
And give these sacred relics room,
To slumber in the silent dust.
Nor pain, nor grief, nor anxious fear
Invade thy bounds. Nor mortal woes
Can reach the peaceful sleepers here,
While angels watch their soft repose.
So Jesus slept;—God’s dying son
Pass’d thro’ the grave, and bless’d the bed;
Rest here, dear saints, till from his throne
The morning break, and pierce the shade.
Break from his throne, illustrious morn;
Attend, O earth! his sov’reign word;
Restore thy trust,—these glorious forms
Shall then arise to meet the Lord.
How sleep the good, who sink to rest,
By all their country’s wishes blest!
By patriot hearts their knell is rung,
By freemen’s lips their dirge is sung.
And honour comes, a pilgrim gray,
To bless the turf that wraps their clay;
And freedom shall awhile repair
To dwell a weeping hermit there!
A nation’s love shall guard their fame;
A nation’s memory bless their name;
And future patriots bend to learn
Their duty from each hallow’d urn.
BY S. L. KNAPP, ESQ.
I heard a voice from Heaven, saying unto me,—
Write from henceforth, blessed are the dead who die
in the Lord: Even so saith the Spirit, for they rest
from their labours and their works do follow them.
MHi: Adams Papers.