Classic Poem

Some Widows there are,
That are Widows indeed;
And others put Grief off
Before Widow's weed.

But Widows there are
Who their Husband so love,
They mourn like a Turtle,
Complain like a Dove.

Yea Widows there are
That will ne'er quit that state;
They mourn like a Turtle,
For their lovely Mate.

A Turtle's compar'd
To the Gospel we read;
Come here then, ye Widows
If Widows indeed.

Your Maker's a Husband
The Lord of Host he;
If you love but his Son,
Your Spouse he will be.