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And dark and hollow were her eyes, Yet tenderly the while Play'd o'er her thin white cheek and lip A sweet and patient smile.

The shadow of the grave was nigh, But to her face was given A holy light from that far home Where she was hastening—heaven.

It was her latest task on earth, That work of faith and love; She taught that village child to raise Her youthful heart above.

She gave her sweet and humble thought That make their own content; And hopes that are the gift of heaven, When heavenward they are bent.

And many wept above the tomb That over Marian closed; When in the bosom of her God The weary soul reposed.

None wept with tenderer tears than she Who such vain tears had shed; But holy was the weeping given To the beloved dead.

Throughout a long and happy life That peasant maiden kept The lesson of that blessed hour When by the brook she wept.