O God! if this indeed be all
 That Life can show to me;
If on my aching brow may fall
 No freshening dew from Thee, -- 
If with no brighter light than this
 The lamp of hope may glow,
And I may only dream of bliss,
 And wake to weary woe;

If friendship's solace must decay,
 When other joys are gone,
And love must keep so far away,
 While I go wandering on, --

Wandering and toiling without gain,
 The slave of others' will,
With constant care, and frequent pain,
 Despised, forgotten still; 

Grieving to look on vice and sin,
 Yet powerless to quell
The silent current from within,
 The outward torrent's swell: 

While all the good I would impart,
 The feelings I would share,
Are driven backward to my heart,
 And turned to wormwood, there;

If clouds must ever keep from sight
 The glories of the Sun,
And I must suffer Winter's blight,
 Ere Summer is begun;

If life must be so full of care,
 Then call me soon to Thee;
Or give me strength enough to bear
 My load of misery.

Acton