A GRAVE AMONG THE FLOWERS. 
And should my soul be call’d to go, 
When Winter’s tempests fiercely blow, — 
Still dig my grave, and let me lie. 
Beneath God’s open, a^re sky. 
Then, as the Spring’s returning rain 
Shall start the flowers to life again, 
Some friend may smile through tears, and say, 
“She’ll bloom, when flowers for aye decay.” 
