Andrew Macphail, comp. The Book of Sorrow. 1916.
Gods-AcreHenry Wadsworth Longfellow (18071882)
I
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.
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.
In the sure faith that we shall rise again
At the great harvest, when the archangel’s blast
Shall winnow, like a fan, the chaff and grain.
In the fair gardens of that second birth,
And each bright blossom mingle its perfume
With that of flowers which never bloomed on earth.
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!