And proud of health, of frolic vain,
Dream’d not of sorrow, care, or pain,
Concluding in those hours of glee,
That all the world was made for me.
But when the days of trial came,
When sorrow shook this trembling frame,
When folly’s gay pursuits were o’er,
And I could dance or sing no more;
It then occurr’d how sad ’twould be
Were this world only made for me.