"They tell me, father, that tonight You wed another bride; That you will clasp her to the arms, Where my dear mother died. "They say her name is Mary too, The name my mother bore. But, father, is she kind and true Like the one you loved before? "Her picture is hanging on the wall; Her books are lying near; There is the harp her fingers touched; There sits her vacant chair, "The chair by which I've oft times knelt To say my evening prayer. O father, do not bid me come; I cannot meet her there. "Now let me kneel down by your side And to our Saviour pray That God's right hand will lead you both Through life's long weary way." The prayer was answered and the song, "I'm weary now," she said, He picked her up all in his arms And laid her on the bed. And as he turned to leave the room One joyful cry was given, He turned and caught the last sweet smile The blind child was in heaven. They buried her by her mother's side And raised a marble fair; And on it graved the simple words, ' "There'll be no blind ones there."

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