The cares and toils that waste our years,
The pangs that change our joys to gall;
Thou gav’st the sceptre unto Death!
Thy hand unbarr’d the insatiate tomb,
And wak’d and arm’d the fiery wrath
That deals the sinner’s final doom!”
She rais’d her meek wet eyes to Heaven,
And all her pray’r was one long sigh;
It told how deep her heart was riven,
And won an angel from on high.