JIDlWd of fbe ~nab 'migrant.
I'x mtting on the stile, MAry,
Where we eat aide by aide,
On a bright May moruing long ago,
When first you were my brine:
The corn waa springing fresh 11nd grfen,
And the lark sang loud and higli-
And the red WM on your lip, Mary,
And the love"light in your eyP.The plac11 ia little changed, Mary,
The day is bright na then,
The lark's loud aong is in my e11r,
And the corn is green again ;
But I miaa the soft clABp of your hand,
And your breath, w11rm on my cheek,
And I etilllteep liat'ning for the words
You never more will apenk,'Tie but a atep down yonder !nne,
And the little church stAnds ne11r;
The church where we were wed, Mary,
I aee the spire from here.
But the grave-yard lies between, Mn1'Y,
And my step might brenk your rest;
'For I've laid you, clnrling! down to sleep
With yonr ~by on your breast.I'm nry lonely now, Mary,
For the poor make no new friends;
But oh I they love tht> better still
The few our Fl\ther sends!
And you were all I hn.d 1 Mt~ry,
My blessing and my pride :
There's nothing left to care for now,
Since my poor Mary died.
Yours was the good brave he11rt, MAry,
Tb~t still kt>pt hoping on,
When the trust in Godnad lef\ my soul,
And my arm's young strengtla wa.s gone i
There was comfort ever on gour lip,
And the kind look on your brow-
1 bl888 you, ~Mary, for that eame,
Though you cannot hear me Dow.