In a quiet country churchyard
From the city far away,
Where no marble stands in mockery
Above the mould'ring clay;
Where rears no sculptured monument--
There grass and flowers wave
'Round a spot where mem'ry lingers--
My once-loved Mary's grave.
They laid her down to slumber
In this lonely quiet spot,
They raised no stone above her,
No epitaph they wrote;
They pressed the fresh mould o'er her
As earth to earth they gave--
Their hearts with anguish bursting,
They turned from Mary's grave.
She knew not much of grief or care
Ere yet by Death's cold hand,
Her soul was snatched from earth away
To join the spirit band:
Her mild blue eye hath lost its gleam,
No more her sufferings crave
The hand of pity, but the tear
Falls oft o'er Mary's grave.
I too would pay my tribute there,
I who have loved her well.
And drop one silent, sorrowing tear
This storm of grief to quell;
'Tis all the hope I dare indulge,
'Tis all the boon I crave,
To pay the tribute of a tear,
Loved Mary, o'er thy grave.