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| ’TIS Sabbath morn, and a holy balm | |
| Drops down on the heart like dew, | |
| And the sunbeams gleam like a blessèd dream, | |
| Afar on the mountains blue. | |
| Old Hannah ’s by her cottage door | 5 |
| In her faded widow’s cap; | |
| She is sitting alone on the old grey stone, | |
| With the Bible in her lap. | |
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| An oak is hanging above her head, | |
| And the burn is wimpling by; | 10 |
| The primroses peep from their sylvan keep, | |
| And the lark is in the sky. | |
| Beneath that shade her children played, | |
| But they’re all away with Death, | |
| And she sits alone on the old grey stone | 15 |
| To hear what the Spirit saith. | |
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| Her years are past three score and ten, | |
| And her eyes are waxing dim, | |
| But the page is bright with a living light, | |
| And her heart leaps up to Him | 20 |
| Who pours the mystic Harmony | |
| Which the soul alone can hear! | |
| She is not alone on the old grey stone, | |
| Though no earthly friend is near. | |
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| There ’s no one left to love her now; | 25 |
| But the Eye that never sleeps | |
| Looks on her in love from the heavens above, | |
| And with quiet joy she weeps. | |
| For she feels the balm of bliss is poured | |
| In her lone heart’s sorest spot: | 30 |
| The widow lone on the old grey stone | |
| Has a peace the world knows not. | |
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