text:  No give us the village churchyard with its sombre yew-trees among which "The dial hid by weeds and flowers Hath told by none beheld the solitary hours;" its grassy hillocks and mouldering grave-stones where haply all record is obliterated and nought but a solitary "resurgam" meets the enquiring eye; its white-robed priest reverently committing "earth to earth " in sure and certain hope "of a joyful resurrection" to the slumbering clay that was wont to worship within the grey and time-stained walls whence the mournful train have now borne him to his last rest; while on the ivy-clad tower fall the slanting golden beams of an autumnal sun that in its declining glory seems to whisper of hope and consolation to the sorrowful ones reminding them that the night of the tomb shall not endure for ever but that so surely as the great orb of day shall return on the wings of the morning to chase away the tears of the lamenting earth so surely shall the dust strewed around that temple scattered though it may be to the winds of heaven "rise again" in the morning of the Resurrection when death "shall be swallowed up in victory