| |
| MARY and I were going together | |
| Down to Greenwood’s City of Rest;— | |
| Going down, in the summer weather, | |
| Where slept the friends we had loved the best. | |
| |
| I had a sister, loved and cherished, | 5 |
| Waiting there my day of doom;— | |
| Mary two babes that together perished | |
| Like twin roses in their bloom. | |
| |
| Green, we knew, was the grass above them, | |
| Bright the flowers, like Heaven’s tears, | 10 |
| Scattered by hands we had taught to love them, | |
| Every sunny day for years. | |
| |
| Mary and I were going together, | |
| Some bright day,—as dear friends come | |
| With the cheerful smile of sunny weather,— | 15 |
| To visit our dead in their quiet home. | |
| |
| We would sit fair flowers wreathing | |
| For the marble overhead; | |
| Hearing the birds sing, as if breathing | |
| Our own love for the early dead. | 20 |
| |
| Mary and I, through all the seasons, | |
| Set we times for our pilgrim day; | |
| Hindered yet by a hundred reasons, | |
| Till the summer had passed away. | |
| |
| Autumn is here with its voice of wailing, | 25 |
| Greenwood’s walks are bleak and bare; | |
| Nature’s beauty is sinking, failing, | |
| Mary has gone before me there. | |
| |
| The City of Rest has a fair new-comer; | |
| O’er Mary’s grave the sad winds moan: | 30 |
| When the skies are bright, next summer, | |
| I shall go to Greenwood alone. | |
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