The way is hard my feet must daily traverse,—
My duties grow to burdens hard to bear,—
Hope veils her face, and woes whose names are legion,
Show thorn-edged ways, and mountain steeps of care.
My duties grow to burdens hard to bear,—
Hope veils her face, and woes whose names are legion,
Show thorn-edged ways, and mountain steeps of care.
Only sometimes, perhaps through God's compassion,
These pictures, set in brightness, light my way;
And gathered back, like lifted folds of curtains,
The shadows lie, through Memory's blessed sway.
My pictures, comforters of Love's own painting,
I'll hail ye, tokens of a glad release,
In God's own time and way, from doubts and trials,
Whose roughnesses shall round to perfect peace.
These pictures, set in brightness, light my way;
And gathered back, like lifted folds of curtains,
The shadows lie, through Memory's blessed sway.
My pictures, comforters of Love's own painting,
I'll hail ye, tokens of a glad release,
In God's own time and way, from doubts and trials,
Whose roughnesses shall round to perfect peace.
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