With a tear of compassion, in silence retiring,
The last ray of hope for your safety expiring;
A feeling of pity this bosom inspiring—
Sing this lamentation and think upon me.
How often at evening your halls have resounded
With th' pure testimony of Jesus, so free;
While the meek were rejoicing, the proud were confounded,
The poor had the gospel;—they'll think upon me.
When Empires shall tremble at Israel returning,
And earth shall be cleans'd by the Spirit of burning;
When proud men shall perish, and Priests with their learning,—
Sing this lamentation, and think upon me.
When the Union is severed, and liberty's blessings
Withheld from the sons of Columbia, once free;
When bloodshed and war, and famine d'stress them,
Remember the warning! and think upon me.
When this mighty city shall crumble to ruin,
And sink as a millstone, the merchants undoing;
The ransom'd, the highway of Zion pursuing,—
Sing this lamentation, and think upon me.
LAMENTATION BY P. P. PRATT.
IN MEMORY OP HIS DEPARTED WIFE, WHO DIED, MARCH 25, 1837.
The joys of home I once have tasted,
All its pleasures called my own;
Friendship's purest pleasures graced it,
But they're gone,—I'm left alone,
Now no more that smile of gladness
Welcomes me at my return;
But a lonely, solemn sadness:
Oh she's gone,—I'm left alone!
Oft when clouds of care and trouble,
Like a tempest o'er me roll'd,
A look, a word, an act of kindness,
Served to calm my troubled soul.