  Perfect in thy promise, as the bud unfolding, Perfect in thyself, as rose fresh blown, Ever gracious, all that’s pure and good upholding, Perfect spirit, hast thou really flown? Must I spend alone the many, many morrows, Void of blissful hopes together spanned, Hopes of service in assuaging others’ sorrows, Hopes of varied joys together planned? No, these heavy mourning weeds I’ll cast asunder, Struggle through the clouds that wrap me round, Close my ears to their unholy, fearsome thunder, Spring anew to life from grief unbound. Perfect spirit, now I know that thou art near me; In thy tender love I rest content, Trusting in that love to cheer, and help, and steer me, Till I too have climbed life’s steep ascent! |
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