No graves are there;
No willow weeps above the grassy bed
Where sleeps the young,
The fondly loved, the fair, the early dead.
No funeral knell
Blends with the breeze of spring its mournful tone
Today we bid henceforth those balmy breezes tell
Of longed ones gone,
No graves are there.

No graves are there;
Nor sunny slope, green turf or quiet grot,
Those sad mementoes of departure bear,
For death is not.
O'er are the cold brow,
No bitter tears of agony are shed;
[] o'er the still pale forms in anguish bow
Whence life has fled,
No graves are there.

No graves are there.
We thank thee, Father, that there is a clime
Where death is not, nor pain nor grief nor care,
Untouched by time.  We praise thy name,
That from the dust and darkness of the tomb
We can look up in faith and humbly claim
Our future home,
No graves are there.