  Dauntless in drouth and dearth, Its pure, bright bloom is given Not by the damps of earth, But by the dews of heaven. O soul shut in with pain,— By want and woe oppressed, Look up,—take heart again; In God’s sure keeping rest. The bounty of thy birth Remains, whate’er be given; Denied the damps of earth, Thine, still, the dews of heaven!
|
|
