“
There, where the cross in hoary ruin nods, And weeping yews o'ershade the lettered stones, While midnight silence wraps these dark abodes, And soothes me wand'ring o'er my kindred bones, Let kindled fancy view the glorious morn, When from the bursting graves the dust shall rise, All nature smiling, and, by angels borne, Messiah's cross, far blazing o'er the skies.
— WILLIAM JULIUS MICKLE