For works with similar titles, see Sorrow.


While sunk in deepest solitude and woe,
My streaming eyes with ceaseless sorrow flow,
While anguish wears the sleepless night away,
And fresher grief awaits returning day;
Encompassed round with ruin, want, and shame.
Undone in fortune, blasted in my fame;
Lost to the soft endearing ties of life.
And tender names of daughter, mother, wife;
Can no recess from calumny be found?
And yet can fate inflict a deeper wound!10

Shed then a ray divine, all-graceous Heaven,
Pardon the soul that sues to be forgiven.

Though cruel human-kind relentless prove,
And least resemble thee in acts of love;
Though friends who should administer relief,
Add pain to woe and misery to grief;
And oft, too oft! with hypocritic air.
Condemn those faults in which they deeply share:
Yet Thou, who dost our various frailties know.
And seest each spring from whence our actions flow,
Shalt, while for mercy to thy throne I fly,21
Regard th' uplifted hand and streaming eye.

Mrs. Pilkington