Yet far away from her convent grey, and far from her lowly cell,
And far from the soft and silvery tone of the sweet convent bell,
And far from the home she loved so well, and far from her native sky,
’Mid the cannon’s roar on a hostile shore she laid her down to die.
* * * * *
She went not forth to gain applause, she sought not empty fame;
E’en those she tended might not know her history or her name;
No honours waited on her path, no flattering voice was nigh;
For she only sought to toil and love, and ’mid her toil to die.
They raise no trophy to her name, they rear no stately bust,