'Tis my first and last request.
If, when deep distress of mind
Press'd me sorely, aught unkind
I have said or done, forgive!
Error falls on all that live.
Beneath the sod, where wave the trees,
And softly sighs the whispering breeze,
Fain I would the grassy shrine,
Mother! guard my dust and thine.
What are grief and suffering here?