Much as love's yearning stirs our human nature,
Through pangs of parting we at last must go.
From thy dear eyes, when I my fate was trying,
A gleam of love and joy streamed forth to me:
Preserve thee God! my joy seemed then undying,
Preserve thee God! such joy was not to be.
I've suffered much from envy, hatred, sorrow,
A weather-beaten wanderer sad and worn;
I dreamt of peace and of a happy morrow,
When I to thee by angel-guides was borne.