Weary centinel of earth,
Grief's companion from my birth,
Doomed no more to watch and weep,
Now I sleep the dreamless sleep
In this calmly shrouding cell;
But what the waking—who may tell!
In that fated hour of fear,
Mary! Mother! be thou here.
Fear to sooth and hope to shed,
Bend thee o'er this earthy bed;
And let my waking view thee mild
As mother o'er her wakening child.