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.