Verse 1
What shall we say? It is the Lord!
His name be prais’d, his will be done!
Bereav’d by his revoking word,
We meekly render him his own,
And faultless mourn our partner fled,
Our friend remov’d, our Dorcas dead.

Verse 2
A Christian good, without pretence,
A widow by her works approv’d,
A saint indeed is summon’d hence,
To triumph with her best belov’d,
In whom she found acceptance here,
And shew’d her faith by humble fear.

Verse 3
By works of righteousness she shew’d
The gracious principle within,
By reverence for the things of God,
By deadness to the world and sin,
By laying up her wealth above,
By all the toils of patient love.

Verse 4
Memorial of her faith unfeign’d,
As incense sweet, before the throne,
Did not her prayers and alms ascend,
And bring the heavenly herald down?
Did she not for the preacher call,
With news of pard’ning grace for all?

Verse 5
What tho’ she in the desart pin’d,
And languish’d for the light in vain,
Her soul obedient and resign’d,
Did darkly safe with God remain,
Who led his trembling servant on,
And bless’d her in a path unknown.

Verse 6
Unconscious of the grace receiv’d,
She mourn’d, as destitute of grace,
A pattern to believers liv’d,
And labour’d on with even pace,
Possest of Mary’s better part,
And Martha’s hands, and Lydia’s heart.

Verse 7
No noisy self-deceiver she,
No boaster vain of faith untry’d:
Her own good deeds she could not see,
But wrought, and cast them all aside;
And when her glorious race was run,
Complain’d, “She never yet begun.”