"The Course of Time" by Robert Pollok

In holy, humble attitude she kneeled;

And to her bosom, fair as moon-beam, pressed

One hand, the other lifted up to heaven;

Her eye, upturned, bright as the star of morn,

As violet meek, excessive ardour streamed,

Wafting away her earnest heart to God.

Her voice, scarce uttered, soft as Zephyr sighs

On morning lily's cheek; though soft and low,

Yet heard in heaven, heard at the mercy-seat.

A tear-drop wandered on her lovely face;

It was a tear of faith, and holy fear,

Pure as the drops that hang at dawning-time,

On yonder willows by the stream of life.