If by these mournful lines, on any brow
I cause a cloud to gather, O, do Thou
Whose love can turn the darkest night to day,
Dispel the gloomy clouds, and me endow
With power to sing a sweetly soothing lay,
And by religion’s light to chase the gloom away.
II.
Yet all have sorrows—all are called to mourn;
There lives no man who has not bid farewell
To youthful joys that never will return.