There was a cloud upon his being's sky,
Denser than he might please, which cast a gloom
More fearful than the darkness of the tomb
Upon his pensive spirit. To his eye,
No ray of hope was darted from on high;
He deemed himself predestined to a doom
Hopeless and endless, and a cold despair
Hung heavily on his heart, and rested there.
Yet holiest affections found a home
Within that heart — and many a plaintive sigh,
Laden with prayer, went upward to that God
Whose chastening is in mercy — and the rod
Was then withdrawn: Death snatched the gloom away,
And poured upon his soul unending day!
