End of an English atheist

Will you bury me, with fond affection?
Deliver me to the sweet earth's protection.
Tho'my frail human body will wither and spoil,
new life shall I have yet in the dark, musty soil.
Will you plant me a rose bush, where I lay down my head?
My life force will flourish, tho' the vessel is dead.
Through the soft velvet petals of the first rose of spring,
blood red and perfect, a new living thing.