O God! if this indeed be
That Life can show to me;
If on my aching brow may
No freshening dew from Thee;
If with no brighter light than
The lamp of hope may glow,
And I may only dream of bliss,
And wake to weary woe;
If friendship's solace must decay,
When other joys are gone,
And love must keep so far away,
While I go wandering on,—Wandering and toiling without gain,
The slave of others' will,
With constant care, and frequent pain,
Despised, forgotten still;
Grieving to look on vice and sin,
Yet powerless to
The silent current from within,
The outward torrent's
While all the good I would impart,
The feelings I would share,
Are driven backward to my heart,
And turned to wormwood there;
If clouds must
ER keep from
The glories of the Sun,
And I must suffer Winter's blight,
Ere Summer is begun;
If Life must be so full of care,
Then call me soon to thee;
Or give me strength enough to
My load of misery.
