And I were blest if thou wert here.
Ah! as I muse, a strange, wild thrill
Steals o’er the fibres of my frame —
A gentle presence seems to fill
My heart with love and life and flame;
I feel thy spirit round me move,
I know thy soul is hovering near —
Sweet Mary, ’tis the hour of love,
And I am blest, for thou art here.