Thy soul shall find itself alone

Upon the graveyard ground is thrown

Not one crying eye shall there be

Into thy hour of secrecy

The silence of such solitude

Alone I think not

For the spirits of the dead whom have pasted
before thee once again make their presents known

The night tho' clear seams to cover thee in a misty glow

The stars within there place in the heavens seem to have
lost their glow

But to thine weary eyes they seem to be red orbs without a beam

And to this weary soul shall seem like a burning fever that would
cling to thee forever