O God！ if this indeed be all That Life can show to me； If on my aching brow may fall No freshening dew from Thee；

    If with no brighter light than this The lamp of hope may glow, And I may only dream of bliss, And wake to weary woe；

    If friendship's solace must decay, When other joys are gone, And love must keep so far away, While I go wandering on,-

    Wandering and toiling without gain, The slave of others' will, With constant care, and frequent pain, Despised, forgotten still；

    Grieving to look on vice and sin, Yet powerless to quell The silent current from within, The outward torrent's swell

    While all the good I would impart, The feelings I would share, Are driven backward to my heart, And turned to wormwood there；

    If clouds must EVER keep from sight The glories of the Sun, And I must suffer Winter's blight, Ere Summer is begun；

    If Life must be so full of care, Then call me soon to thee； Or give me strength enough to bear My load of misery.