The Winter Burial

By Hannah Flagg Gould

The deep-toned bell peals long and low
On the keen, mid-winter air;
A sorrowing train moves sad and slow
From the solemn place of prayer.

The earth is in a winding sheet,
And nature wrapped in gloom,
Cold, cold the path which the mourners' feet
Pursue to the waiting tomb!

They follow one, who calmly goes
From her own loved mansion-door,
Nor shrinks from the way through gathered snows,
To return to her home no more.

A sable line, to the drift-crowned hill
The narrow pass they wind;
And here, where all is drear and chill,
Their friend they leave behind.

The silent grave they 're bending o'er,
A long farewell to take;
One last, last look, and then, no more
Till the dead shall all awake!