Widow Bedott To Elder Sniffles

O reverend sir, I do declare         It drives me most to frenzy,     To think of you a-lying there         Down sick with influenzy.     A body'd thought it was enough         To mourn your wife's departer,     Without sich trouble as this ere         To come a-follerin' arter.     But sickness and affliction         Are sent by a wise creation,     And always ought to be underwent         By patience and resignation.     O, I could to your bedside fly,         And wipe your weeping eyes,     And do my best to cure you up,         If 'twouldn't create surprise.     It's a world of trouble we tarry in,         But, Elder, don't despair;     That you may soon be movin' again         Is constantly my prayer.     Both sick and well, you may depend         You'll never be forgot     By your faithful and affectionate friend,         Priscilla Pool Bedott.