But, what at present bears the face of ill,
May end in smiling bliss and lasting joy.
Soon may that Power supreme, whose dread command
Can still the tumults of the raging main;
Through paths of danger with unerring hand,
Guide me to thee and happiness again.
In Him, my Delia, then thy trust repose,
’Tis he alone the joyless bosom cheers;
He soothes when absent all our heart-felt woes,
At home our soft domestic scene endears.