Classic Poem

There is a garden in a distant place,
In a far field where trees encircling grow,
And, often when the summer breezes blow,
I go alone to muse upon a face
That was my joy. White roses interlace
His resting spot the granite cross below.
There my dumb heart can sometimes voice its woe
And ask the healing of our dear Lord's grace.
The fragrance of the rose is as his youth,
The blue forget-me-nots reflect his eyes,
The deep dyed pansies are for memory.
In that sweet garden I can feel the truth
That all my love doth follow to the skies
And pledge the Spirit's immortality.