The Old Church Yard

By Ralph Stanley

Oh, come, come with me to the old church yard
I will know the path through the soft green sward
Friends slumber there we were want to regard
We'll trace out their names in the old church yard
Oh, mourn not for them their grief is ore
Weep not for them they'll weep no more
Far deep is their sleep though cold and hard
Their pillow may be in the old church yard
 
Know it seems vain when friends depart
To breath kind words to the broken heart
I know that the joys of life seem marred
We'll follow our friends to the old church yard
 
Our friends linger there in sweetest repose
Released from the world's sad bereavement and woe
And who would not rest with the friends they regard
In quietude sweet in the old church yard
 
We will rest in the hope of that bright day
When beauty shall spring from the prison of clay
When Gabriel's voice and the trump of the Lord
Shall awaken the dead in the old church yard

 

 




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