For Mary

Oh! may the brightest smiles of heaven That beam on men below, Still shine upon sweet Mary's path, Wherever she may go.

May Angels, like herself! still guard Her steps from every ill, Until she walks in robes of white, O'er God's high, happy hill.

And, when, in that celestial clime, She beams a spirit bright— How sweet to think she'll love me then Where nought our love can blight.