A noble heart is sleeping here,
Beneath this lowly mound;
With reverence let us draw near,
For this is holy ground.

The mortal frame that rests below
This consecrated sward,
Was late with heavenly hope aglow,
A temple of the Lord.

His charity was like a flood,
It seemed to have no bound,
But reached the evil and the good,
Wherever want was found.

The poor and needy sought his door,
The wretched and distressed,
He blessed them from his ample store,
With shelter, food and rest.

Giving his substance to the poor,
He lent it to the Lord;
While each returning harvest brought
Him back a rich reward.

Thus passed his useful life away,
Dispensing good to all,
Till on the evening of his day,
He heard his Master call.

'Brave soldier of the cross, well done,
You've fought a noble fight;
Come up, and claim the victor's crown,
And wear it as your right.'

'For all your works of christian love
And heaven-born charity,
Are registered in Heaven above
As so much done to Me.'