"The churchyard had an olden wall,
With matted moss o'ergrown,

And o'er it running vines did crawl;
You scarce could see a stone.

"And when the sick man came thus far-
The yard, it looked so green,
The swinging gate, it stood ajar-

And so he ventured in.

"Now, blessings on this pleasant place, So free from dust and noise!

No snarling curs my steps may trace,
Nor graceless village boys.

“‹'T is grateful to my aching feet;
And here I'll rest awhile,

Where all around is fresh and sweet
Sweet as my mother's smile.'

"He threw him down upon the grass,

Beneath the ivy shade;

An infant's grave his pillow was,
So soft and ready-made.

"The brutal sexton came that way,
And found him there alone;

No longer would he let him stay,
But stoned him with a stone.

"Now hold thy hand,' the stranger cried, For I am weak and wan;

And if I may not here abide,

Assist me to be gone.

"How quiet are the dead, in rows,
With tombstones white and broad!
God help me! but I wish I was
Beneath the peaceful sod!

"Did I intrude, you might upbraid;

But be my bitter ban

On him and his for ever laid,

Who stoned a friendless man!"

"Full furious was the sexton then; And, with malignant jeer,

'Get out! get out! you vagabond! You have no business here!

"He beat and dragged him, in his wrath, Across the church's yard;

And, when without the inner path,

The gate the sexton barred.

""T was evening; and full fast and chill

The dews began to fall;

The stranger, weak and weaker still,
Now staggered near the wall...

"But none were there who knew his name,

Or shared his weight of wo;

None knew nor cared from whence he came,

Nor where he wished to go.

"And when his hot and heaving breath,

His gasping, choking sigh, Betokened that he strove with death,

They turned him out to die.

"And e'en a grave they did refuse, Scooped from the hallowed ground, Whereon he met with vile abuse,

Near where his corpse was found.

"No means had he wherewith to buy Permission there to rot;

And so

* these tears bedim mine eye,—

My curses on the spot!

"A box! a box!' the beadle cried;

'Bring any box that's near!

We'll take him to the commons wide,

And hide his carcase there.'

"They took him just as he was dressed -
For none would make a shroud;
And in the box his form they pressed;

Then rang the hammer loud.

"Now back the cart! 't is some expense,

Much labor, and no fee:

He might have died a few miles hence:

Who can the varlet be?

For few grow fat from kicks and knocks;'Yo! heave, my boys! yo! heave!

"So!-steady now!- there, that will do; Whip up the old gray horse!'And thus they drove the village through;'T was but a beggar's corse!

"And on the commons, bleak and bare,

They dug his lonely grave;

I'd sooner sleep beside him there,

Than in that church's nave!

"And no one sang his funeral hymn,

Nor sighed a last farewell;

Nor prayers were said, nor eyes were dim,
Nor tolled the village bell:

"None lingered there, with quivering lip,

To gaze his grave within

"'T was all for want of fellowship,"

Said little Lucy Lynne.

NEW YORK, May, 1846.