Bury him in the sunshine, All that of earth remains; Let every tear that damps his bier Fall warm as April rains That bring to light the blossoms bright, And break the wintry spell. Thus we’ll bury him in the sunshine, In the light he loved so well! Bury him in the sunshine, Where softest breezes blow. His dear face brought no dismal thought, To those who love him so. Let cheerful strains and glad refrains A joyous requiem swell, While we bury him in the sunshine, In the light he loved so well! Bury him in the sunshine, While Christmas carols rise In thankful mirth from smiling earth To fair sun-litten skies. Forget the gloom that shrouds the tomb, And hush the dreary knell, For we’ll bury him in the sunshine, In the light he loved so well! Bury him in the sunshine; His peerless soul hath flown To that fair land upon whose strand No winds of winter moan. Sublimer heights, purer delights, Than mortal tongue can tell; So, we’ll bury him in God’s sunshine, In the light he loved so well! MONTGOMERY M. FOLSOM. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ HENRY WOODFIN GRADY. ------- MUST we concede the life so swiftly flown That seemed but yesterday to breath our own— The pulsing stayed that through our land he sent, In whose one impact North and South were blent— His cords yet vital stilled with tone abounding, His heart-strings sundered by their vibrant sounding? Too well we feel the import of our fears— The wide-flashed word, “the South is steeped in tears!” Fitly she weeps for her chivalric son Who turned to her, in flush of triumph won, The filial voice to gain her glad applause— The golden tongue to plead—to gild her cause. That spirit note—the music of his speech, Is silenced now in earthly hearing’s reach; Snapped is the silvern thread—the resonant soul— Though severed still its pæans reverberant roll— All hearts their hope-rung—chants in mourning merge, All joyous dreams translate into a dirge.