The dead are in their silent graves,

And the dew is cold above,

And the living weep and sigh,

Over dust that once was love.

Once I only wept the dead,

But now the living cause my pain:

How couldst thou steal me from my tears,

To leave me to my tears again?

My Mother rests beneath the sod —

Her rest is calm and very deep:

I wish’d that she could se............