Your sweetheart’s just beneath it, Tom, and you did mine the same;
Some heartless wretch has peeled the bark; ’twas dying sure but slow,
Just as she died, whose name you cut, some twenty years ago.
My lids have long been dry, Tom, but tears came to my eyes;
I thought of her I loved so well, those early broken ties;
I visited the old church yard, and took some flowers to strow
Upon the graves of those we loved, some twenty years ago.
Some are in the church-yard laid, some sleep beneath the sea;
But few are left of our old class, excepting you and me;
And when our time shall come, Tom, and we are called to go,