Sexton, Spare that Grave

Sexton, Spare that Grave

SEXTON! spare that grave,

Touch not a single clod!

There let the wild grass wave

Forever o'er that sod.

Sexton! my Mother sleeps

In that neglected spot;

The willow o'er it weeps;

I pray thee touch it not.

'Twas my lov'd Father's hand

That plac'd it near her grave,

Then, sexton, let it stand,

And long in sadness wave.

Long years have pass'd away,

By gloom and care oppress'd,

Since that dark, cheerless day

When she was laid to rest.

For she who soothed my woes,

And lull'd my cares to sleep,

Shall still in peace repose,

Tho' I am left to weep.

And there my beauteous boy,

Whose pale and noble brow

Once glow'd with love and joy,

There, too, reposes now.

His dust has mingled long

With her's he loved so well.

Whose evening prayer and song

Could each young care dispel.

2:43, p. 172

1838.12.15

From the National Intelligencer:

"While sojourning, a few years ago, in a neat little village in New England, I visited one evening, the burial place of its dead, which lay near the church, and was filled with "many a moldering heap," and the humble memorials of those who had left the "warm precincts of the cheerful day." A fine Babylonian willow waved its drooping branches over a humble grave, which seemed to have been long tenanted and neglected. The sexton, with his mattock and spade, was preparing to excavate a last resting place for one who had just departed this life, and appeared to be ready to reopen the grave to which I have alluded, when a gentleman of prepossessing appearance, and advanced in years, came up to the sexton and desired him to seek some other spot, as the grave he was about to violate contained the loved remains of his mother and son, a beautiful boy, who had died in his sixth year, about twenty years before. This incident suggested the following lines:"