Nor did they come too late; again in prayer
The preacher rais’d his voice; its solemn tones
Awaked the evening echoes; hollow sounds
They were, for he was sick; but in that hour
The spirit triumph’d o’er the fainting frame.
It was a melting scene. Long hoary hairs
Were waving in the breeze, while old and young
Again uncover’d their respectful heads,
When prayer was made to God; and in that hour,
When stood the mourner at her husband’s grave,