I was lying low, low in the sere vale of grief.
Cloud and gloom hung oppressingly o'er me.
The future was midnight before me
No star and no sign of relief;
But my season of sorrow was brief;
For a balm came to soothe and restore me.
It seemed that a seraph's wings bore me
To realms where enjoyment was chief.
A song, as a voice 'twere from heaven,
Waft softly sweet strains to my ear,
And the cloud of my sorrow was riven,
And my soul filled with solace and cheer.
Think I not of the singer who breathed the sweet song?
Yea, cherish her memory long, oh, so long!
