Alas for trouble and care and sin,
And bitterness, hate, and strife!
That the heart grows cold and callous within,
As stoned by the hail and stunn'd by the din
Of the storm-driven desert of life.

Alas! that the world is winning the game,--
And -- who then is counting the cost?
O speed,-- for fear, for glory, for shame,
Let Satan be baulk'd of his murderous aim,
For, the stake is -- a soul to be lost!

Where stands Paradise, after the fall?
Alas! it has wither'd away,--
The slime of the serpent is over us all,
And Nature has veil'd with a funeral-pall
Her beautiful face in decay!