Or but one hope, one prayer,—for this alone
I bless thee, O my God!
That I have loved—that I have known the love
Which troubles in the soul the tearful springs,
Yet, with a colouring halo from above,
Tinges and glorifies all earthly things,
Whate’er its anguish or its woe may be,
Still weaving links for intercourse with thee:
I bless thee, O my God!
That by the passion of its deep distress,