So, Christian! though gloomy and sad be thy days,
And the tempest of sorrow encompass thee black;
Though no sunshine of promise or hope sheds its rays
To illumine and cheer thy life’s desolate track:
Though thy soul writhes in anguish, and bitter tears flow
O’er the wreck of fond joys from thy bleeding heart riven,
Check thy murmuring sorrows, thou lorn one, and know
That the chastened on earth are the purest for Heaven;
And remember, though gloomy thy present may be,
That “the Master is coming,” and coming to thee.