Till standing by his side at morn,
The Tempter said in bitter scorn,
“Oh! peace:—what profit do you gain
From empty words and babblings vain?
‘Come, Lord—oh, come!’ you cry alway;
You pour your heart out night and day;
Yet still no murmur of reply,—
No voice that answers, ‘Here am I.’”
Then sank that stricken heart in dust,
That word had withered all its trust;