And they told me they had withered,
On the bride's brow and the grave;
Half an hour, and all their fragrance
Died away, which heaven gave.
Two sweet-faced girls came walking
Thro' my lonely home one day,
And I overheard them talking
Of an altar on their way.
They were culling flowers around me,
And I said a little prayer
To go with them — and they found me —
And upon an altar fair,
Where the Eucharist was lying
On its mystical death-bed,
I felt myself a-dying,
While the Mass was being said.
But I lived a little longer,
And I prayed there all the day,
Till the evening Benediction,
When my poor life passed away.
Singing-Bird
In the valley of my life
Sings a "Singing-Bird",
And its voice thro' calm and strife
Is sweetly heard.
In the day and thro' the night
Sound the notes,
And its song thro' dark and bright
Ever floats.
Other warblers cease to sing,
And their voices rest,
And they fold their weary wing
In their quiet nest.
But my Singing-Bird still sings
Without a cease;
And each song it murmurs brings
My spirit peace.