He who in nature's desolate distress
Hath felt his helplessness,
And, looking out for comfort all around,
No single ray has found,
Till he hath turned to Heaven his earnest prayer,
And sought, nor sought in vain, for comfort there;-
He only knows how blessèd a relief
Heaven keeps for human grief;
He only feels how woe is sanctified
When most severely tried;
And gathers from its sternest discipline
Hopes beyond earth, and joys almost divine.
In all the sorrows that o'erwhelm us here
God's kindness and His care
Are ever beaming brightly. Good for man
The end of every plan
And every purpose. Woe, in scenes like this,
Moves through vicissitude to perfect bliss.