And then, beside his smitten gourd,
  Spake out with murmuring breath,
To vindicate his bitter right
  Of anger unto death.

"On the third day He rose!" Who rose?
  My spirit s strength and stay;
Unto whose blessed skirts I'11 cling
  Till life is rent away.
It matters not, though death draw nigh
  In curtained chamber fair,
Or on the deep, 'mid wrecking blasts,
  If He be with us there.
Oh! may my ransomed soul at last,
  Time's storm-tried voyage o'er,
Sit down, like Mary, at His feet,
  And listen evermore.