Classic Poem

Are graves of man indeed a hopeless night,
That has no morn beyond it, and no star,
Wherein life's music ends forevermore?
Then, whence these transformations? Lo, the root
And tiny seed cast in the self-same earth,
Escape entombment! see them burst above,
With power irresistible, and clothe
The conquered earth with leaves and blossoms fair!
Have comfort, then, ye sons of heavenly hope,
The voice of God shall call our buried up.