Sunday's Poem - "Beyond the Years," by Paul Laurence Dunbar

Beyond the Years  Beyond the years the answer lies, Beyond where brood the grieving skies    And Night drops tears. Where Faith rod-chastened smiles to rise    And doff its fears, And carping Sorrow pines and dies—    Beyond the years.   Beyond the years the prayer for rest Shall beat no more within the breast;    The darkness clears, And Morn perched on the mountain's crest    Her form uprears— The day that is to come is best,    Beyond the years.  Beyond the years the soul shall find That endless peace for which it pined,    For light appears, And to the eyes that still were blind    With blood and tears, Their sight shall come all unconfined    Beyond the years. By Paul Lawrence Dunbar

Sunday's Poem - God's Acre by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

GOD'S-ACRE

I like that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls
  The burial-ground God's-Acre! It is just;
It consecrates each grave within its walls,
  And breathes a benison o'er the sleeping dust.

God's-Acre! Yes, that blessed name imparts
  Comfort to those, who in the grave have sown
The seed that they had garnered in their hearts,
  Their bread of life, alas! no more their own.

Into its furrows shall we all be cast,
In the sure faith, that we shall rise again
At the great harvest, when the archangel's blast
  Shall winnow, like a fan, the chaff and grain.

Then shall the good stand in immortal bloom,
In the fair gardens of that second birth;
And each bright blossom mingle its perfume
With that of flowers, which never bloomed on earth.

With thy rude ploughahare, Death, turn up the sod,
And spread the furrow for the seed we sow;
This is the field and Acre of our God,
This is the place where human harvests grow!