Has seemed but one sad wilderness, and few
The hours of peace amidst the bitter strife!
Must I, then, Lord, toil on unceasing here?
Hast thou no words of comfort for my soul?
Are all the cheerless, fainting hours to win
No progress toward my weary spirit's goal?
Nay! as I speak, I know the day will dawn
From out the dark and tempest-driven night,
When I, released, shall stand erect and free
Within the glory of that radiant light!