O, Though Oft Oppressed And Lonely, All

In What A Forge And What A Heat Were Shaped The Anchors Of Thy Hope! Fear Not Each Sudden Sound And Shock; 'tis Of The Wave And Not The Rock.

O Weary Hearts! O Slumbering Eyes! O Drooping Souls, Whose Destinies Are Fraught With Fear And Pain, Ye Shall Be Loved Again.

Each Morning Sees Some Task Begun, Each Evening Sees It Close; Something Attempted, Something Done, Has Earned A Night's Repose.

A Feeling Of Sadness And Longing, That Is Not Akin To Pain, And Resembles Sorrow Only As The Mist Resembles The Rain.

Welcome, My Old Friend, Welcome To A Foreign Fireside.