A thousand, thousand changing things
Man's mortal pilgrimage befall;
But virtue, but religion, brings
Sweet hopes and steadfast joys for all.
The restlessness that cannot sleep,
Secures a peaceful pillow there;
The woes that waste, the thoughts that weep,
May find a shelter from despair.
Disheartened hope and wearying care
And dark distress its smiles control,
And, like an angel, minister
To the bright sunshine of the soul.
And fears subside, and doubts depart,
And sorrow flits on speedy wing,
And gentle joy subdues the heart,
And wakes to peace each slumb'ring string.
Then, calmed to silence, every thought
Brings comfort from vicissitude;
And the submissive soul is brought
To own that all is right and good.