Classic Poem

She lay down in her poverty,
Toil-stricken, though so young;
And the words of human sorrow
Fell trembling from her tongue.

There were palace-houses round her
And pomp and pride swept by
The walls of that poor chamber,
Where she lay down to die.

Two were abiding with her,
The lowly of the earth,—
Her feeble, weeping sister,
And she who gave her birth.

She lay down in her poverty,
Toil-stricken, though so young;
And the words of human sorrow
Fell from her trembling tongue.

“Oh Lord, thick clouds of darkness
About my soul are spread,
And the waters of affliction
Have gathered o'er my head!

“Yet what is life? A desert,
Whose cheering springs are dry,
A weary, barren wilderness!—
Still it is hard to die!

“For love, the clinging, deathless,
Is with my life entwined;
And the yearning spirit doth rebel
To leave the weak behind!

“Oh Saviour, who didst drain the dregs
Of human wo and pain,
In this, the fiercest trial-hour,
My doubting sou sustain!

“I sink, I sink! support me;
Deep waters round me roll;
I fear! I faint! O Saviour,
Sustain my sinking soul!”