A Mother's Grave.

I.     The years have passed in ceaseless round         Since first they laid her here to rest     In dreamless sleep beneath the silent mound,         With folded hands upon her gentle breast. II.     The ivy twines about the crumbling stone,         And Springtime's scented blossoms fling     Their incense o'er the peaceful home         That knows no more of suffering. III.     Full many a Summer's sun has shed         Its brightest smile upon the hallowed spot,     And sobered Autumn and wild Winter spread         Their garments here--she heeds them not! IV.     The feathered wildlings of the wood and field         Their untaught melody around it make,     But she who sleeps with eyes so softly sealed         Their gladsome songs can never more awake. V.     O restful sleep beneath the crumbling mold         To dream no more of hopes unrealized!     O Grave! What treasures do thy confines hold         By us so dearly loved and fondly prized!