The Assurance of Faith

I sat where the dead had been laid to rest
Neath pines on a hill where the robins nest,
And the stillness of sundown cast its spell
O’er emerald fields and a wooded dell.
I sat there in silence, then vespers heard
In the thankful song of many a bird,
And a violet or two beneath my feet
Wore the kind of smile I love to meet.
The dead were there, but a mountain, too,
Stood yonder against the ethereal blue,
And the dying day left a living thought:
“When faith is strong—then death is naught.”