You ask me why I do not cry,
As others do, in sorrow's hour?
E'en death's keen sting doth fail to bring
The tears, which have such soothing power;
I only know, I feel the woe,
And pangs of sorrow deep at heart;
Tho dry mine eyes, within me lies
The wound, which comes from sorrow's dart.
The deepest woe, may never show
Thru tears, and moans, its agony—
The heart may ache, or even break,
Yet hide its grief, that none may see.
