Henry Wadsworth Longfellow on Grave (burial)
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“This is the field and Acre of our God, This is the place where human harvests grow!”
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“I like that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls The burial-ground God's Acre. It is just.”
“Take them, O Grave! and let them lie Folded upon thy narrow shelves, As garments by the soul laid by, And precious only to ourselves!”
“I see their scattered gravestones gleaming white Through the pale dusk of the impending night. O'er all alike the imperial sunset throws Its golden hues mingled with the rose; We give to each a tender thought and pass Out of the graveyards with their tangled grass.”