Our country’s fashion and our mother-tongue,
Of mere inheritance, ... no thing of choice
In judgement fix’d, nor rooted in the heart.
Me have the arrows of calamity
Sore stricken; sinking underneath the weight
Of sorrow, yet more heavily oppress’d
Beneath the burthen of my sins, I turn’d
In that dread hour to Him who from the Cross
Calls to the heavy-laden. There I found
Relief and comfort; there I have my hope,