I know a sweet and silent spot,

And gladly there I stay,

Though many near me heed it not,

Or wish it far away.

'Tis but a narrow strip of land,

Hedged in, and decked with flowers;

Yet all round it tokens stand,

Of other world than ours.

These little mounds men scarcely see,

Nor dream of gold concealed;

But they are precious mines to me,

Where treasures vast are sealed.

Here, as beside some boundary-stone,

The child of troubled time

Looks upward, where his friends are gone,

And seeks their brighter clime.

Here, I have gathered strength and light

For all my future way;

Here, faith is nearly turned to sight,

And night almost to day.

And not afar, I see the day

Which daily draws more near

When passing friends shall pause, and say,

"Our brother's grave is here!"

But I'll have journeyed, glad and free,

Far from this silent spot,

While leaving to its sanctuary

What other's hands have brought;

And in my Father's happy land

Have met my own once more,

Where we shall scarcely understand

Why we have wept before.