And suffering Nature has no power,
To stay the pang, to still the sigh;
When suns no longer deign to shine,
And friends who came in early years,
Desert the home and fly the shrine,
Whose only offering then, is tears:
Thou shalt be nigh, in weal and wo,
My love a balm shall ever be,
And thou shalt teach the heart to know,
Truth still abides with infancy