The sailor would not watch the star;
And David's psalms had ne'er been sung
If grief his heart had never wrung.
Heavier the cross the more aspiring;
From vales we climb to mountain's crest;
The pilgrim, of the desert tiring,
Longs for the Canaan of his rest.
The dove has here no rest in sight,
And to the ark she wings her flight.
Heavier the cross the easier dying;