And I wept o’er my Sorrows alone.
No friend came around me to cheer me,
No parent to soften my grief;
Nor brother nor sister were near me,
And strangers could give no relief.
’Tis true that it matters but little,
Tho’ living the thought makes one pine,
Whatever befalls the poor relic,
When the spirit has flown from its shrine.
But oh! when life’s journey is over,