That shuts the rose.
3 Thou traveler in this vale of tears,
To realms of everlasting light,
Through time’s dark wilderness of years,
Pursue thy flight.
4 Whate’er thy lot—whate’er thou be—
Confess thy folly—kiss the rod;
And in thy chastening sorrows see
The hand of God.
5 Though long of winds and waves the sport,