And I all withered and gray!
And Gilfillan's bones 'neath the kirk-yard stones
Of a foreign and far-off land—
No preacher so loud of the coffin and shroud,
And the house that is built on sand!
Oh! a rare, rare castle of human hope
We builded aloft in our pride!
And, oh! woe betide so weary a dream;
For my lover is by my side.
We have known no partings, no weary years,