Green as Machpelah's honored field,
Where Jacob and where Leah lie,
Where Sharon's shrubs their roses yield,
And Carmel's branches wave on high;
So honored, so adorned, so green,
Young martyr! shall thy grave be seen.
O! how unlike the bloody bed,
Where pride and passion seek to lie;
Where faith is not, where hope can shed
No tear of holy sympathy!
There withering thoughts shall drop around,
In dampness on the lonely mound.
On Jordan's weeping willow trees,
Another holy harp is hung:
It murmurs in as soft a breeze,
As e'er from Gilead's balm was flung,
When Judah's tears, in Babel's stream
Dropped, and when 'Zion was their theme.'
So may the harp of Gabriel sound
In the high heaven, to welcome thee,
When, rising from the holy ground
Of Nazareth and Galilee,
The saints of God shall take their flight,
In rapture, to the realms of light.