That's hallowed ground--where mourned and missed, The lips repose our love has kissed;-- But where's their memory's mansion? Is 't Yon churchyard's bowers? No; in ourselves their souls exist, A part of ours. What hallows ground where heroes sleep? 'T is not the sculptured piles you heap! In dews that heavens far distant weep, Their turf may bloom; Or genii twine beneath the deep Their coral tomb. But strew his ashes to the wind Whose sword or voice has served mankind--And is he dead, whose glorious mind Lifts thine on high? To live in hearts we leave behind Is not to die. Is 't death to fall for freedom's right? He's dead alone that lacks her light! And murder sullies in Heaven's sight The sword he draws:-- What can alone ennoble fight? A noble cause! Give that! and welcome war to brace Her drums! and rend heaven's reeking space! The colors painted face to face, The charging cheer, Though Death's pale horse led on the chase, Shall still be dear! And place our trophies where men kneel To Heaven!--but Heaven rebukes my zeal! The cause of truth and human weal, O God above! Transfer it from the sword's appeal To peace and love! Peace, love! the cherubim, that join Their spread wings o'er devotion's shrine;-- Prayers sound in vain, and temples shine Where they are not;-- The heart alone can make divine Religion's spot. To incantations dost thou trust, And pompous rites in domes august? See mouldering stones and metals' rust Belie the vaunt, That man can bless one pile of dust With chime or chant. Fair stars! are not your beings pure? Can sin, can death your worlds obscure? Else why so swell the thoughts at your Aspect above? Ye must be Heaven's that make us sure Of heavenly love!