When pale disease, with blighting hand,
Crushes each budding hope awhile,
Our eyes can rest in sweet delight
On love’s fond gaze, or friendship’s smile.
Not so with him; his soul chained down
By doubt, and loneliness, and care,
Feels but misfortune’s chilling frown,
And broods in darkness and despair.
Favored by Heaven, O, haste thee on;
Thy blest Redeemer points the way;