Could minister to this afflicted heart,
And my grey hairs may now unto the grave
Go down in peace.
Happy, Florinda cried,
Are they for whom the grave hath peace in store!
The wrongs they have sustain’d, the woes they bear,
Pass not that holy threshold, where Death heals
The broken heart. O Lady, thou may’st trust
In humble hope, through Him who on the Cross
Gave his atoning blood for lost mankind,