  A cup of pleasure passing sweet, Sometimes, this life of hopes and fears,— But oft, a fountain full of grief, O’erflowing still with lonely tears. When brightest skies above us bend, Dark o’er our heads the tempest lowers;— At best, a sombre happiness, A partial light, at best, is ours. What waits beyond,—of good or ill, We vainly struggle to discern;— Poor, sinful, blind, and comfortless, O pitying Christ! to Thee we turn. Our only help and refuge, Thou;— Give joy for sorrow, peace for strife; We bring our burdened hearts to Thee, O Love divine! our Light, our Life.
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