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Southern Historical Society Papers
Yes, give me the land
Of the wreck and the tomb;
There's grandeur in graves—
There's glory in gloom.
For out of the gloom
Future brightness is born
As after the night
Looms the sunrise of morn.
And the graves of the dead,
With the grass over grown,
May yet form the footstool
Of Liberty's throne;
And each simple wreck,
In the waypath of might,
Shall yet be a rock
In the temple of Right.
