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.