But never yet upon one heart did fall
Misfortune’s hand so heavy. Thy young head
Has born a nation’s griefs, its woes, and all
The serried sorrows which earth’s histories call
The hand of God. Then, Olive, bend thy knee,
Morning and night, until the funeral pall
Hides thy fair face to Him who watches thee,
Whose power once made thee bond, whose power once set thee free.
Montbar.
Marysville, April 27, 1857.