When Mary through the garden went, 
There was no sound of angry bird,
And yet, because the night was spent,
The little grasses lightly stirred,
The flowers awoke, the lilies heard.

When Mary through the garden went,
The dew lay still on flower and grass,
The waving palms above her sent
Their fragrance out as she did pass.
No light upon the branches was.

When Mary through the garden went,
Her eyes, for weeping long, were dim.
The grass beneath her footstep bent,
The solemn lilies, white and slim,
These also stood and wept for him.