There’s a little grave on the green hillside that lies to the morning sun
And the way worn feet often wander there when the cares of the day are done
We sometimes sit in the twilight fall and talk of a far off land
And we sometimes feel in the twilight there the touch of a vanished hand
Grave on the green hillside grave on the green hillside
In the years to come we will calmly sleep in a grave on the green hillside
And this land is full of these little graves in the valleys plains and hills
There’s angel too for each little grave an angel procession fills
I know not how but I sometimes think that they lead us with gentle hand
And a whisper falls on a willing ear from the shore of a far off land
And these little graves are but wayside marks that point to a far off land
And they speak to the soul of a better day of a day that’s near at hand
Though we first must walk through the chartless fields yet Christ will be our guide
We will reach the shore of a far off land through a grave on a green hillside