Yet, oft beneath its influence bowed,
A beam of hope will burst the cloud,
And heaven's celestial shore appears
Slow rising o'er the tide of years,
Guiding the spirit's darkling way
Through thorny paths to endless day.
Then the toils of life are done,
Youth and age are both as one;
Sorrow never more can sting,
Neglect or pain the bosom wring;