I wandered among the churchyard dead
On a sunny Sabbath day,
And I marked a grave where the sexton said
An atheist's ashes lay.
A headstone pointed the lowly spot,
Inscribed with his age and name;
But other memorial there was not
To draw either praise or blame.
Yet the daisy there was as fresh in its hue,
The elm did as lightly wave,
And the springtide grass as greenly grew
As o'er the Christians grave.
And I marked that the sunbeams through the trees
Fell as lightly on the sod,
As if its inmate had been of these
Who had lived in the faith of a God.
And o'er my mind the reflection came
Of a new and startling kind:
T'was whispered within me that man may blame
Where Nature can no fault find;
The bigot's curse from the Gothic pile
On the skeptical few may fall,
But Nature extends with a mother's smile
Her pity and love to all.