Not Mourn for Thee ?

Not mourn for thee ?  Though tears be vain,1
                        
                        Our bursting hearts refute2
                        
                        The frigid philosophic strain,3
                        
                        That deepest woes are mute.4
                        
                        However stoic Reason preach,5
                        
                        Warm Nature will rebel,6
                        
                        And grief must strive to vent in speech7
                        
                        What words are vain to tell, Mary !8
                        Not mourn for thee ?  It may be, Time,9
                        
                        That dries all human tears,10
                        
                        Will bid the flood of passion’s prime11
                        
                        Ebb with the healing years.12
                        
                        But still from out our hearts will well13
                        
                        One low, undying strain,14
                        
                        A plaint, as of the murmuring shell15
                        
                        That ever mourns the main, Mary !16
                        Not mourn for thee ?  It may be, Earth17
                        
                        Will circle as of yore,18
                        
                        And leaf, and flower, and fruit, have birth19
                        
                        As bounteous as before ;20
                        
                        But we shall mark a charm the less21
                        
                        In earth, and sea, and sky,22
                        
                        Missed from that perfect loveliness23
                        
                        They wore when thou wert by, Mary !24
                        
Not mourn for thee ?  Ah, lying grief !25
                        
                        The tears which will have way,26
                        
                        O’erburden’d Nature’s kind relief,27
                        
                        But seem to disobey.28
                        
                        It is but for ourselves we weep,29
                        
                        For our own loss repine ;30
                        
                        Ah, God! unwittingly we keep31
                        
                        That dying charge of thine, Mary !32
                        If, in that better world on high,33
                        
                        Where thou art dwelling now,34
                        
                        Thou yet canst bend a pitying eye35
                        
                        On us who weep below ;36
                        
                        Oh, whisper, from that glorious sphere37
                        
                        The selfish love forgiven38
                        
                        That would have bound a Martyr here,39
                        
                        And grudged a Saint to Heaven, Mary !40