Like fountain gushing from her heart’s deep cell:
“O earth! break forth in groans; ease thou my pain!
Ye rivers, ocean, weep! My Love is slain!
My Jesus dies, and I—
I cannot die, but through this exile moan
A stranger, midst of multitudes alone,
And vainly seek to fly
Where harps ten thousand wake the echoing sky;
My solace here, to suffer or to die!
“O Jesus! long and wildly have I striven,