Page:Over the river, and other poems.djvu/66

60 How oft, with eyes unstrung and spirits weary, They wander through this world of sighs and tears! Too soon they feel the chilling world's cold censure, The heartless flattery or the smile of scorn; See others walk in ease, peradventure Their own torn feet too sharply feel the thorn. But while I know not what my life may be, Or where my weary life -bark may be driven, Father of light, I look alone to Thee To guide it safely to the destined haven ! If storm-tossed on the surging sea of life, The waif of every wave my boat shall be, Breathe Thou upon the tempest and the strife, Or take the restless wanderer home to thee.