"Come, sit beside my couch of death, With that fair summer flower, That I may taste its balmy breath Before my final hour. The lily's virgin purity, The rose's rich perfume, Speak with a thrilling voice to me, Preparing for the tomb. "Each calls to mind sweet Sharon's rose, The lily of the vale-- The white and stainless robes of those Who conquer and prevail. For as it droops its modest head, Methinks it seems to say: 'All flesh, like me, must quickly fade, Must wither and decay!' "And yet it tells of fairer skies, And happier lands than this, Where beauteous flowers immortal vie, And plants of Paradise: A land where blooms eternal spring-- Where every storm is past; Fain would my weary spirit wing Its way--and be at rest.-- "But hark, I hear a choral strain-- It comes from worlds above, It speaks of my release from pain, Of rest--in Jesus' love! Jesus, my hope, my help, my stay, My all in earth or heaven, Let thy blest mandate only say, 'Thy sins are all forgiven!' "Then will I plume my joyful wing To those blest realms of peace, Where saints and angels ever sing, And sorrows ever cease. Dear mother, dry thy tearful eye, And weep no more for me, The orphan's God that reigns on high The widow's God shall be. "Pull me a sprig of that white flower, And place it on my breast, The last effect of friendship's power Shall charm my heart to rest. Then, Lord, let me depart from pain To realms where glories dwell, Where I may meet those friends again, And say no more 'farewell!'" Her first book did not yield much pecuniary profit. In 1865 a larger volume of her poetry was published by Mr. Andrew Elliot, of Edinburgh. Her valued friend, Miss Moncrieff, prefaced it with a biographical sketch, and Dean Ramsay wrote an introduction. He described her poems as being of "no common excellence, both in diction and sentiment." The book also contains a portrait of the author. Through the kindly interest of the publisher the work proved extremely successful, and the proceeds of the sale became her chief support in her old age, when unable to work through feeble health and blindness. She enjoyed many comforts, thanks to the help of Miss M. A. Scott Moncrieff, Mr. Andrew Elliot, and other warm-hearted friends. She died in 1870, having reached more than the allotted three score years and ten, and was interred in the historic burial ground of Greyfriars' Church, Edinburgh. Her last resting-place was for some years without any monumental stone, but mainly through the exertions of Dr. Rogers, in May, 1885, a handsome cross was erected over her remains, simply bearing her name, "Mary Pyper." The Poet of the Fisher-Folk: Mrs. Susan K. Phillips.