html website builder

The churchyard hath a noble tree,
The willow--the willow!
She droops her head so gracefully
The fair and stately willow.
That acre which the Lord hath blessed,
How calmly sweet its dwellers rest,
With her light shadow on their beast,
The willow, the willow!

 

She looketh down her loved to see
The willow, the willow!
She keeps her trust so tenderly,
The faithful weeping willow.
But life still creepeth over death,
With sunshine and with singing breath,
And in green beauty flourisheth
The willow, the willow!

 

In other scenes my childhood knew
The willow, the willow;
Beside a meadow-brook she grew,
The sacred weeping willow.
There thick the glinting sunbeams lay,
And bending gracious to our play,
Her slender branches seemed to sway,
The willow, the willow!

 

Softly the merry waters pass
The willow--the willow;
And greener grows the meadow grass
Beneath the friendly willow.
And still I hear, on summer eves,
The tender sighing of the leaves,
And memory for her garlands weaves
The willow, the willow.

 

O, greener than the laurel grows
The willow, the willow;
And all most blessed lives repose
In shadow of the willow.
A giant sorrow, green and strong,
Where all the lesser joys may throng
And murmur in their sweetest song
The willow--the willow!