Where Denmark’s Son’s are Sleeping
By C.M. Conrad
The western sun is sinking low
in clouds of gold and crimson,
The evening shadows lengthen
In the little churchyard, where awhile
I linger, memories creeping
From out the past, that haunts the isle
Where Denmark’s sons are sleeping.
Sad memories, yet sweet withal,
Of those kind friends departed,
Who made St. Croix a home to all
And restful calm imparted.
Dignified, generous, patient, kind
Swerving from honor never;
Such memories securely bind
True hearts to them forever.
Though far away from northern snows
This home of endless summer
They knew they could in it repose
Respected by each comer.
They laid their dead in this fair isle
For aye, mid those that loved them,
They asked no more than Danish soil
And Dannebrog above them.
The fading sunsets dying light
Falls like a benediction,
On marble cross and headstone white
Regilding the inscription.
Of many a name, revered of yore,
Now fate’s unconscious hostage
Like Caesar, there is none so poor
Today to do them homage.
‘Sic transit gloria mundi’.
They are aliens now, and ever,
The flag they loved has gone away
From where they sleep forever.
But God’s pure stars shine lovingly,
Their watch eternal keeping
O’er the fair island of the sea,
Where Denmark’s sons are sleeping.
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