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123. THE WIDOWS' TEARS: OR, DIRGE OF DORCAS.
Come pity us, all ye who see
Our harps hung on the willow tree:
Come pity us, ye passers-by
Who see or hear poor widows cry:
Come pity us; and bring your ears
And eyes to pity widows' tears.
Chor. And when you are come hither
Then we will keep
A fast, and weep
Our eyes out altogether.
For Tabitha, who dead lies here,
Clean washed, and laid out for the bier,
O modest matrons, weep and wail!
For now the corn and wine must fail:
The basket and the bin of bread,
Wherewith so many souls were fed,
Chor. Stand empty here for ever:
And ah! the poor
At thy worn door
Shall be relieved never.
Woe worth the time, woe worth the day
That 'reaved us of thee, Tabitha!
For we have lost with thee the meal,
The bits, the morsels, and the deal
Of gentle paste and yielding dough
That thou on widows did'st bestow.
Our harps hung on the willow tree:
Come pity us, ye passers-by
Who see or hear poor widows cry:
Come pity us; and bring your ears
And eyes to pity widows' tears.
Chor. And when you are come hither
Then we will keep
A fast, and weep
Our eyes out altogether.
For Tabitha, who dead lies here,
Clean washed, and laid out for the bier,
O modest matrons, weep and wail!
For now the corn and wine must fail:
The basket and the bin of bread,
Wherewith so many souls were fed,
Chor. Stand empty here for ever:
And ah! the poor
At thy worn door
Shall be relieved never.
Woe worth the time, woe worth the day
That 'reaved us of thee, Tabitha!
For we have lost with thee the meal,
The bits, the morsels, and the deal
Of gentle paste and yielding dough
That thou on widows did'st bestow.
