In its onward course, and the spirit to flag;
That prays for death as but a release
From earthly care, and finds no peace
In that sweet belief that at last I hail,—
‘There is rest for the weary beyond the vale.’
For to me has come a spirit of light,
Bringing the morning, and chasing the night;
Causing my heart with joy to swell
To my Maker, ‘who doeth all things well.’
You shall hear my story: ’twill not be long,