Let Us Be Merciful As Well As

And All The Air Is Filled With Pleasant Noise Of Waters

This Is The Place. Stand Still, My Steed,- Let Me Review The Scene, And Summon From The Shadowy Past The Forms That Once Have Been.

Sweet Is The Air With The Budding Haws, And The Valley Stretching For Miles Below Is White With Blossoming Cherry-trees, As If Just Covered With Lighted Snow.

Ah, To Build, To Build! That Is The Noblest Of All The Arts.

I Like That Ancient Saxon Phrase, Which Calls The Burial-ground God's-acre! It Is Just; It Consecrates Each Grave Within Its Walls, And Breathes A Benison O'er The Sleeping Dust.