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There's a [A]little grave on the [D]green hillside that [A]lies to the morning [E]sun
And the way [A]worn feet often [D]wander there when the [E]cares of the day are [A]done
We [D]sometimes sit in the [A]twilight fall and talk of a far off [E]land
And we [A]sometimes feel in the [D]twilight there the [E]touch of a vanished [A]hand
Grave on the green hillside [E]grave on the green hillside
In the [A]years to come we will [D]calmly sleep in a [E]grave on the green [A]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