No vain petition for a swift relief,

No tearful eye, no broken hearts are there

"Care has no home

Within that realm of ceaseless praise and song;

Its tossing billows break and melt in foam,

Far from the mansions of the spirit-throng.

"The storm’s black wing

Is never spread athwart celestial skies;

Its wailings blend not with the voice of spring,

As some too tender floweret fades and dies."