And pour their woe through weeping eyes,
And drain at last the source of sighs,
When hearts o’erflow in singing.
If doubt and vice with cloud and tide
Surround a wretch whose father’s pride
And mother’s love have wellnigh died,
And sister’s hands are wringing,
Ah, then, beyond the waves that roar,
He too may heed the friendly shore,
Where others, won from woes before,