With God be her glory,
where fellowship,
a joy divine,
distracts her
from her healing pain.
Run to the church
and pray your debts
to the Almighty.
Dedicate your hope
to build on nothing less
than mournful holiness.
Gather at His Humble Hands
to hold her crumbling heart.
A beautiful word
as her voice carries
in this place of thinning faith.
The weeping widow
spider spins a web
of her soul's sincerest desires.
Then shares the bread
of new loneliness.
