( THE RURAL CEMETERY AT BANGOR, ME .)

If Hope be here, oh sylvan mount!
Reposing on thine emerald breast, —
Throws light o'er sorrow's sacred fount, —
And calms the mourner's heart to rest, —

If they, who sleep beneath this sod,
Made holy by affection's tear,
Had found a resting-place with God
Before their ashes slumbered here, —

Ye have not called its name in vain!
The sweetest, purest, ever given,
To soothe the life's long hour of pain,
And lead the spirit up to Heaven!

If Hope be here, — our souls may soar
With something of immortal fire, —
If Hope be here, — no earthly shore
Can bound the heart's untold desire!

It must be so, — ye flowers, that gem
The hill-side with unnumbered dyes,
Speaks not, on every fragile stem,
Some lesson from your starry eyes?

And ye, God's loftier work, whose tall,
Gray branches seek heaven's vaulted blue,
Tree — flower — hill — plain! great Nature's all, —
Are not your ceaseless voices true?

Yes, — many a time, beneath the shade,
That sleeps upon the green hill's breast,
When all of earthly hope is laid, —
With youth and beauty here at rest, —

How many a breaking heart shall say,
Oh not in vain thy name was given,
To call its thoughts from earth away,
And fix its hope, — its all, on Heaven!