Though worms my poor body
My claim as their pray
'Twill outshine when rising
The sun at midday.
But weep not for me, my friends so dear.
I am not dead, just sleeping here
My grassy bed, my grave you see.
Prepare in life to follow me.
But be wise ye living while you may
Prepare against the coming day
When you as low as I must lay
Your souls from hence be called away
Because it takes four and no more
It takes four to win the war.
Then let the last loud trumpet sound
And bid our kindred rise;
Awake ye nations underground,
Ye saints ascend the skies.
Because blessed are those who silently wait
For they shall pass the beautiful gate.
But death, like a flooding midnight stream,
Sweeps us away, our life's a dream,
An empty tale, a morning flower,
Cut down and withered in an hour.
So now deep in earth, this bed of sighs,
I wait till I, like fire, shall rise.
In latter days, the healing rain
Shall wash away these tears of pain.
Then will my voice in great goodbyes
Join the chorus of the skies.
This is a poem used from the words that were marked on grave stones through out the book called Beautiful City of the Dead. A book written by Leander Watts. I highly recommend reading it. It's a really good book. Mount Hope from the beginning part of the title comes from the name of the cemetary in where these graves lie. These are not my own words. They just inspired me to write them all down and put them into a poem.