Old Peasant, The

Hold on in faith and blamelessness,
     Till falls thy cool grave-sod,
Nor by a finger’s-breadth transgree
     The even ways of God:
So shalt thou, as in pastures green,
     Thy pilgrim-path pursue,
So canst thou, fearless and serene,
     Death’s face of terror view.
Then children’s children, bending round,
     Shall weep upon thy tomb,
And Summer-flowers, with odors crowned,
     Above their tears shall bloom