When I am dead.

  Then lay my head

In some lone, distant dell,

  Where voices ne'er

  Shall stir the air,

Or break its silent spell.

  If any sound

  Be heard around,

Let the sweet bird alone,

  That weeps in song,

  Sing all night long,

"Peace, peace, to him that's gone!"

  Yet, oh, were mine

  One sigh of thine,

One pitying word from thee,

  Like gleams of heaven,

  To sinners given,

Would be that word to me.

  Howe'er unblest,

  My shade would rest

While listening to that tone;—

  Enough 'twould be

  To hear from thee,

"Peace, peace, to him that gone."