So death as life to the girl was hard,
And the potter’s field with its deep disgrace
Was her only permitted resting-place.
So the friends who loved her laid her there
With no word of comfort, no word of prayer,
And years went by; but as, one by one,
They dropped from their daily tasks and died,
And turned their faces from the sun,
They were carried and buried by her side,—
Each gave command that such should be,