XX.
“If never more the blessed sun should rise—
If moon and stars in blackest gloom were seal’d—
Though nature in the gloom should sympathize—
Though winds and waves their utmost power reveal’d,
And to the heart in hollow groans appeal’d—
Though all my friends were laid beneath the sod—
Though icy death my blood had all congealed—
Still would I trust in thee, my Father God!
And bless thee most of all for thy chastising rod.