And age drains out my strength and pride,
And dim-grown eyes and trembling hand
No longer list my soul’s command,
I’ll want you—Mary.
In joy and grief, in good and ill,
Friend of my heart! I need you still;
My Playmate, Friend, Companion, Love,
To dwell with here, to clasp above,
I want you—Mary.
For O! if past the gates of Death