While tears stood sparkling in her eyes
Like rain-drops on the clover;
And many a head bowed low to pray,
Howe’er her skies might vary,
The years would bless her on her way
And keep her Laughing Mary.
MORYAH
“Wisha, where is he goin’ to now
With the hat on the back of the poll,
And the hair of him curled on the brow,