The Graves Of Our Fathers
by
Far away from the white man’s smoke,
In the woods and in silence deep,
Under the shade of the beech and oak,
The bones of the heroes sleep.
And there we go when the sky is grey,
We go, and we shed no tears,
But bend our heads to the earth, and pray
For the men of many years.
Lightly we tread o’er the grassy mounds,
Where the bones of our fathers rest;
They are gone to the happy hunting grounds,
They’re gone, and they are blest!
Strong in the battle–fleet in the chase,
And wise when the old men met;
Their spirits dwell in the pleasant place,
But their sons remember yet.