On, backed by stately mountains green,
Where stand the wooden house old.
By night sing bugs the music keen;
Sweet stories are sung but not told.
Abundant flowers red and white,
A path meand’ring to the yard,
Sweet fragrance in the moonlight night,
A mem’ry one can ne’er discard.
Four score’n ten years you lived and toiled.
For loving freedom and untried,
By seeing the strong, yet unrecoiled,
No grudge nor hatred, never cried.
Those peaceful, sweet and loving days,
Thus passed with conscience light and clear.
Believing, praying in your ways,
You trusted God without a fear.
Life kind and gay be tak’n away
The storm of life came in the night
Of torrent rain that washed all away!
No force could stop the evil might.
Handcuffed, away were led those three!
Fear, dread, sorrow shattered your life.
Alone, you prayed on your lone knee.
You knew the vainness of your strife.
Ah, slow march to death in the rain;
The dumb sheep marched with bodies bare.
Their toil and labour none to gain.
Your mind and heart could never bear.
By friendly hands the corpses brought!
You washed and caskets made at night.
In vain, in vain, all works they wrought!
Were laid in th’yard when sun was bright.
Or hard or easy you betaked(betook),
Whate’er betided you – weal or woe.
The dews of tear on cheeks you worked
By day you tilled the land with hoe.