| |
| I’M sittin’ on the stile, Mary, | |
| Where we sat side by side | |
| On a bright May mornin’ long ago, | |
| When first you were my bride; | |
| The corn was springin’ fresh and green, | 5 |
| And the lark sang loud and high— | |
| And the red was on your lip, Mary, | |
| And the love-light in your eye. | |
| |
| The place is little changed, Mary, | |
| The day is bright as then, | 10 |
| The lark’s loud song is in my ear, | |
| And the corn is green again; | |
| 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 | 15 |
| You never more will speak. | |
| |
| ’Tis 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. | 20 |
| But the graveyard lies between, Mary, | |
| And my step might break your rest— | |
| For I’ve laid you, darling! down to sleep, | |
| With your baby on your breast. | |
| |
| I’m very lonely now, Mary, | 25 |
| For the poor make no new friends, | |
| But, O, they love the better still, | |
| The few our Father sends! | |
| And you were all I had, Mary, | |
| My blessin’ and my pride: | 30 |
| There’s nothin’ left to care for now, | |
| Since my poor Mary died. | |
| |
| Yours was the good, brave heart, Mary, | |
| That still kept hoping on, | |
| When the trust in God had left my soul, | 35 |
| And my arm’s young strength was gone: | |
| There was comfort ever on your lip, | |
| And the kind look on your brow— | |
| I bless you, Mary, for that same, | |
| Though you cannot hear me now. | 40 |
| |
| I thank you for the patient smile | |
| When your heart was fit to break, | |
| When the hunger pain was gnawin’ there, | |
| And you hid it, for my sake! | |
| I bless you for the pleasant word, | 45 |
| When your heart was sad and sore— | |
| O, I’m thankful you are gone, Mary, | |
| Where grief can’t reach you more! | |
| |
| I’m biddin’ you a long farewell, | |
| My Mary—kind and true! | 50 |
| But I’ll not forget you, darling! | |
| In the land I’m goin’ to; | |
| They say there’s bread and work for all, | |
| And the sun shines always there— | |
| But I’ll not forget old Ireland, | 55 |
| Were it fifty times as fair! | |
| |
| And often in those grand old woods | |
| I’ll sit, and shut my eyes, | |
| And my heart will travel back again | |
| To the place where Mary lies; | 60 |
| And I’ll think I see the little stile | |
| Where we sat side by side: | |
| And the springin’ corn, and the bright May morn, | |
| When first you were my bride. | |
| |
