Lay her down, the pure and holy;
Lay her down, the meek and lowly,
Underneath the sod.
In her womanly completeness,
In her spirit robe of sweetness,
She has gone to God.
Tendril-like, her thoughts and feelings,
In their silent, shy revealings,
Twined around the cross;
Incense-like, her prayers ascending,
Sought thee, Mary Mother, bending
Low in gain or loss.
Fairest flowers shall bloom above her,
Sweetest-throated birds shall hover
O'er her place of rest;
While her body's guest, immortal,
From beyond the heavenly portal,
Shines among the blest!