Make it where the winds may sweep <br />Through the pine boughs soft and deep, <br />And the murmur of the sea <br />Come across the orient lea, <br />And the falling raindrops sing <br />Gently to his slumbering. <br /> <br />Make it where the meadows wide <br />Greenly lie on every side, <br />Harvest fields he reaped and trod, <br />Westering slopes of clover sod, <br />Orchard lands where bloom and blow <br />Trees he planted long ago. <br /> <br />Make it where the starshine dim <br />May be always close to him, <br />And the sunrise glory spread <br />Lavishly around his bed. <br />And the dewy grasses creep <br />Tenderly above his sleep. <br /> <br />Since these things to him were dear <br />Through full many a well-spent year, <br />It is surely meet their grace <br />Should be on his resting-place, <br />And the murmur of the sea <br />Be his dirge eternally.<br /><br />Lucy Maud Montgomery<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-old-man-s-grave/
