And weakness o’er my spirit steals,—

Grateful I hear the kind decree,

That “as my day, my strength shall be.”

When, with sad footstep, memory roves

’Mid smitten joys, and buried loves,—

When sleep my tearful pillow flies,

And dewy morning drinks my sighs,—

Still to Thy promise, Lord, I flee,

That “as my day, my strength shall be.”

One trial more must yet be past,