’Tis but a step down yonder lane, and the little church stands near,
The church where we were wed, Mary—I see the spire from here:
But the grave-yard lies between, Mary, and my step might break your rest;
For I’ve laid you, darling, down to sleep, with your baby on your breast.
I’m very lonely now, Mary, for the poor make no new friends;
But oh, they love the better far, the few Our Father sends!
And you were all I had, Mary, my blessing and my pride:—
There’s nothing left to care for now, since my poor Mary died!
Yours was the brave good heart, Mary, that still kept hoping on,
When the trust in God had left my soul, and my arm’s young strength was gone: