The widow’s son lay sleeping
In cold embrace of death,
Her only joy and blessing,
Of all she was bereft.

Her husband in his manhood
Had lain him down to die,
Her earthly bliss and treasures,
All, all, had passed away.

She followed now her idol
To his cold, dark resting place.
And, wild with grief and sorrow,
She pressed the last loved kiss.

But as her way she wended
With saddened step and slow,
A stranger, with attendants.
Drew near the scene of woe.

He gazed with look of sadness
Upon the widow’s grief,
Then stopped the lone procession
With tones of bless’d relief.

With voice of power he uttered
The words, Young Man, Arise!
When, quick as spark electric,
He heard the Almighty’s voice,

And rose from death’s dominions
Triumphant o’er his foe.
While he, the wondrous stranger,
Passed on, unknown below.

O, thou, beloved Master,
Who dried those tears of woe,
Be near, when floods of sorrow
Our hearts shall overflow.

Elvenah C. R. Wells
Lingering Sounds
from a Broken Harp, 1869