''Whose Corpse This Is I Think I Know''

Whose corpse this is I think I know. Its grave is in the churchyard, though; It will not see us stopping here To hear its ghost cry out in woe. My little boy must think it's ***** To stop without a graveyard near Between the woods and frozen lake Whereat the corpse's upon its bier. He gives my hand a wrenching shake To ask if there's some mistake. The only other soul's the shade Of coming Death for his end's sake . The corpse is grisly, foul, and decayed, But I have Death to then dissuade, And pleas to make because I'm afraid, And pleas to make because I'm afraid.