Mary

If there 's a word that whispers love
In gentlest tones to hearts of woe,
If there 's a name more prized above,
And loved with deeper love below,
'Tis Mary.

If there 's a healing sound beneath
To soothe the heart in sorrow's hour,
If there 's a name that angels breathe
In silence with a deeper power,
'Tis Mary.

It softly hangs on many a tongue
In ladies' bower and sacred fane,
The sweetest name by poets sung--
The high and consecrated strain--
Is Mary.

And Scotia's Bard--life's holiest dream
Was his, the silent heavens above,
When on the Bible o'er the stream
He vowed his early vows of love
To Mary.

Oh, with the sweet repose of even,
By forest lone, by fragrant lea,
And by thy beauties all, Loch Leven,
How dear shall the remembrance be
Of Mary!

Scotland and Mary are entwined
With blooming wreath of fadeless green,
And printed on the undying mind;
For, oh! her fair, though fated Queen,
Was Mary.

By the lone forest and the lea,
When smiles the thoughtful evening star,
Though other names may dearer be,
The sweetest, gentlest, loveliest far,
Is Mary.