Why has my child, my darling child departed?
Why has my God in wrath that loved one taken?
Leaving me desolate and broken-hearted,
O'erwhelmed and prostrate, hopeless and forsaken.
And is it all in wrath that I am smitten,
And pressed with burdens heavy to be borne?
Hope yet, my soul, in God, for he hath written
With his own finger, blessed are they who mourn.
Perhaps I loved my child more than my God,
Neglecting and forgetting every other,
And He in mercy sent the chastening rod,
And took away the child to save the mother.
Farewell, then earth! Why should I look below?
I too will take my staff, and weeping heavenward go.
— American Cottage Life (1850) IX.