56
TO A BEREAVED FRIEND.
Thy Mary hath gone from thee; —thou hast folded
For the last time her dear form to thy breast,
And on those lips, in softest beauty moulded,
The last, last kiss of yearning love hast pressed.
Thy Mary hath gone from thee; —thou hast folded
For the last time her dear form to thy breast,
And on those lips, in softest beauty moulded,
The last, last kiss of yearning love hast pressed.
She hath gone from thee;—thou hast seen her lying
Gasping away the life so dear to thee;
And thou didst hold her hand while she was dying,
Till the long sleep stole o'er her tranquilly;—
Gasping away the life so dear to thee;
And thou didst hold her hand while she was dying,
Till the long sleep stole o'er her tranquilly;—
One after one didst feel thy heart-strings breaking,
As each faint pulse grew fainter in that hand;
Though thou didst know that she was only taking
Her flight before thee to the better land.
As each faint pulse grew fainter in that hand;
Though thou didst know that she was only taking
Her flight before thee to the better land.
