For thee, poor widowed heart, In vain sweet spring returns ; The charm of vernal songs and flowers, The joys reviving nature showers. Touch not the heart that mourns ; Or touch it so, As wakes fresh woe For one all darkly laid, this blooming earth below ! Yet, still, poor widowed heart, Though desolate and sad, The thought — thy mourned one ne'er can know Thine own unutterable woe — Almost might make thee glad ! The blest deplore Earth's griefs no more; And though thy joys are fled, thy loved one's tears are o'er. Poor broken, widowed heart. To God disclose thy pain ! Earth yields no cure ; but Heaven has given A balm for hearts bereft and riven, A balm ne'er tried in vain : That volume bright, Where beams of light Illume the Eternal Words, reveals it to thy sight.