I LEFt t, a c ,
A woman scarce in years:
I come to thee, a solemn corpse
her feels nor fears.
I o use in sighs;
ts on mine eyes
to seal tears.
Look on me hine own calm look:
I meet it calm as thou.
No look of this smile,
Or break thy sinful vow:
I tell t my poor scornd
Is of t:
It cannot vex thee now.
I ing sob
hen passions course was free;
I lips
In the anguish none could see;
t, S--
But I only prayd for thee.
Go to! I pray for thee no more:
tongue is still;
Its folded fingers point to heaven,
But point tiff and chill:
No farther woe
he sin below
Its tranquil to thrill.
I che livings prayer,
And tness,
to thy soul a cry
hich God shall hear and bless!
Lest heavens own palm droop in my hand,
And pale among ts I stand,
A saint companionless.