Oh, I'm sitting on the stile, Mary,
Where we sat side by side,
On a bright May morning long ago,
When first you were my bride;
The corn was springing fresh and green,
And the lark sang loud and high,
And the red was on your lips, Mary,
And the love lay in your eye.
The place is little changed, Mary,
The day is bright as then,
The lark's loud song is in my ear,
And the corn is green again;
But I miss the softness of your hand,
And your breath warm on my cheek,
And I still keep listening for the words,
You never more will speak.
'Tis but a step down yonder lane,
The little church stands near,
The place where we were wed, Mary,
I see the spire from here;
And the grave-yard stands between us both,
Where you took your final rest,
Where I laid you, darling, down to sleep,
With your babe all on your breast.
I'm very lonely now, Mary,
For the poor make no new friends;
But, oh, they love the better still,
The few our Father sends;
And you were all I had, Mary,
My blessing and my pride,
There's nothing else to care for now,
Since my poor Mary died.
I'm bidding you a long farewell,
My Mary, kind and true,
But I'll not forget you, darling,
In that land I'm going to;
For they say there's bread and work for all,
And the sun shines always there,
But I'll ne'er forget my Mary,
Were it fifty times as fair.
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