Rejected, sad, abandon’d, and forlorn;
Of God it seem’d not lov’d; of Hell, the scorn!
No hope, or human or Divine,
Brighten’d my dark, cold, doubting, wretched mind;
The world, a wilderness; Heaven’s self, unkind!
‘Blackness of darkness’ seem’d my way:
Slow struck the ELEVENTH! Thy light around me broke!
And deep, unto my soul, these words were spoke:
‘Why stand ye idle all the day?’
‘Enter and work through the waning hour!’—