The bleak wind of March I'm sittin' on the stile, Mary, Where we sat side by side On a bright May mornin' long ago, The place is little changed, Mary, The lark's loud song is in my, ear, But I miss the soft clasp of your hand, And your breath warm on my cheek, And I still keep list'ning for the words You never more will speak. 'T is but a step down yonder lane, And the little church stands near, The church where we were wed, Mary, I see the spire from here. But the graveyard lies between, Mary, And my step might break your restFor I've laid you, darling! down to sleep, With your baby on your breast. I'm very lonely now, Mary, For the poor make no new friends,' But, oh! they love the better still," The few our Father sends! And you were all I had, Mary, My blessin' and my pride: There's nothin' left to care for now, Since my poor Mary died. Yours was the good, brave heart, Mary, 16 24 When the trust in God had left my soul, And my arm's young strength was gone: 32 |