6
For her own home is desolate and lonely,
Hers is the only seat beside the hearth,
Sad in its summer garden, as she only
Were the last wanderer on this weary earth.
But in that ancient church her heart grows stronger
With prayers that raise their earnest eyes above;
And in the presence of her God, no longer
Feels like an outcast from all hope and love.
Glorious the mighty anthem round her swelling,
Fills the rapt spirit, sacred and sublime;
Soon will for her unfold th’ immortal dwelling—
She waiteth patient, God’s appointed time.
