Rest now—and weep—thou praised of Earth! And own, when all is done, A world's false worship is not worth The deep tried love of one. - Helen Blackwood, Baroness Dufferin and Claneboye

I'm very lonely now, Mary,—
The poor make no new friends;—
But, oh! they love the better still
The few our Father sends

I'm sitting on the stile, Mary,
Where we sat side by side,
That bright May morning long ago
When first you were my bride.
The corn was springing fresh and green,
The lark sang loud and high,
The red was on your lip, Mary,
The love-light in your eye.

Thou mourner for departed dreams!
On earth there is no rest
When grief hath troubled the pure streams
Of memory in thy breast!