I.
Hearts will sigh. The burdens of distress
Weigh on us all. E'en from the natal hour
The purest soul some hidden cares oppress,
O'ertasking far our vain and feeble power.
Clouds o'er each mountain summit ever lower,
And gloom enwraps each hushed and quiet vale:
Bright eyes grow dim, each rosy cheek grows pale,
For change is earth's inevitable dower.
Then the crushed soul, forgetful of its pride,
Turns from itself to what it may not see
But knows exists, for safety and for aid.
And well it is that we may lay aside
Our burdens thus, and in humility
Pray at a shrine where prayer was ne'er denied.