Upon being asked if I was not sometimes unhappy
Yes , oft the cloud of sorrow lowers;
Too oft my spirit sinks;
And, drooping with exhausted powers,
The cup of sorrow drinks.
My heart is oft a stranger here;
Its griefs, its joys unknown;
And feels, though bright the scene appear,
Deserted and alone.
To God's all-seeing, pitying eye,
That heart is open still;
To Him in deepest gloom shall rise,
Submissive to his will.
Too oft my spirit sinks;
And, drooping with exhausted powers,
The cup of sorrow drinks.
My heart is oft a stranger here;
Its griefs, its joys unknown;
And feels, though bright the scene appear,
Deserted and alone.
To God's all-seeing, pitying eye,
That heart is open still;
To Him in deepest gloom shall rise,
Submissive to his will.
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