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.