That voice that once echoed the song of the vain.
Now whispers relief to the bosom of pain;
And the hair that was shining with diamond and pearl,
Is wet with the tears of the penitent girl.
5. Her down bed—a pallet; her trinkets—a bead;
Her lustre—one taper that serves her to read;
Her sculpture—the crucifix nailed by her bed;
Her paintings—one print of the thorn-crowned head;
Her cushion—the pavement that wearies her knees;
Her music—the psalm, or sigh of disease;