From the german oe salis.
Deep is the grave, and silent;
The pall-like, broad, black hand
Hides from the eye of sorrow
That fearful unknown land.
True friendship's flowers will only
Fall on the mossy ground;
Never shall be heard below
The nightingale's sweet sound.
There brides bereaved and grieving
Shall wring their hands in vain;
The orphan's lamentations
Give to the dead no pain.
But in no other dwelling
Shall all our troubles cease,
And only through death's portal
We reach the home of peace.
Hearts wearied here, and broken
By many a ruthless blast,
Shall find no shelt'ring haven
Till death's dark vale is past.