The still form shaded by the sombre yew
In Mary’s Bower, a spot remote from din,
Save when in flood the shrill gush of the linn
From wailing waves is wafted o’er her tomb,
Retiring soft round her parental home,
Where trained with pious care to womanhood,
Henceforth her motto, Ever doing good;
Gentle with youth, and comforting the old,
In faith and hope to gain the promised Fold.
Alas! the link has snapped in Friendship’s chain.