I stand by the grave the old-time grave

In the drift of the falling rain ;
My heart goes back to an afternoon

In the spring of life again,
When mother was carried the churchyard thro',

When April was dead and gone ;
And a voice said ' Happy, happy, happy,

Happy the corpse that the rain rains on.'

My heart went back much further yet,

To a time when mother and I
Stood out on the wet and the shining grass,

While above was the clearing sky ;
She plucked a lilac all drooping wet

And dark with its perfume on,
' The lilac is sweet the lilac is sweet,

The lilac is sweet that the rain rains on.'

Boy as I was when mother died,

I stole thro' the creeping wet,
And placed in her dear white hands a bunch

Of lilacs and mignonette ;
And the rain fell soft in the May morn light

Her glistening coffin on ;
And the voice said ' Happy, happy, happy,

Happy tbe corpse that the rain rains on.'