From this affliction I can never rise;

The dark and heavy rolling surges break

Over my storm-tost bark, and not a star,

A beacon-spark amid the gloomy waste,

Shines forth to light me to the opening grave.

A brilliant star there was—my guiding star;

On it I kept my eye and fondly dreamed

It ne'er would set until my journey's end;

On it I gazed as on a star of hope,

To the tired wanderer a gift from God,