Friends whom I feasted in my luxury,
In sorrow turned from me.

A hundred servitors, that once did wait
Upon my high estate,

Me — desolate, forsaken, old, and poor—
Thrust from my own house-door.

Only that One whom I in joy forgot,
My fault remembered not,

And in my tears of late-born penitence
Drove me not, scorning, hence.

His strong arm raised me where I prostrate fell;
He made my bruised heart well;

My thirst He quenched; my hunger gave He bread;
And my weak steps He led

Through the blind dark of desert sands, to where
His fresh, green pastures were.

O, calm and fair the days, and all delights
Make beautiful the nights!

O, fair the nights, and beautiful the days,
Within these quiet ways!

What need is there which He may not supply?
Familiar steps go by,

And well-known voices die upon my ear —
But He is ever near!

The vision of all beauty and all grace
Is in His perfect face.

Sweeter His voice is than the melodies
Wherewith I lulled my ease.

Wisdom and truth, and measures of sweet song,
Unto His words belong;

And to my lowly roof His presence brings
Splendor exceeding kings'!