And one by one she saw her hopes expire,
But shed no tear, because the fount was dry;
Hers was a grief too strangely sad for tears.
You heard no shriek of anguish as the tide
Of cold and leaden loneliness swept in
Upon her gentle bosom, though the fall
Of earth upon the coffin of the loved
And lost was not more fearful.
She prayed for power to “suffer and be still.”
And God was merciful—it came at last,