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But see the woes that thou must prove,
The bitterness which thou shalt taste;
The nameless pangs thine heart must know,
The anguish that will fright thy sleep,
Her smile would sicken into woe,
And she would seek alone to weep.
O thou, who thus the eye hast veil'd,
The book of fate so slowly given,
I thank thee, that thou hast conceal'd
From man the prescience of heaven.
Ah, when upon thy troubled soul,
The ills of life shall closely press,
May resignation's meek control,
Allay the tumult of distress.
For often in affliction's school,
Though the sad heart perceives it not,
Virtue is gain'd, and wisdom's rule,
That never, never is forgot.
When o'er thy fading joys declin'd,
The sounding waves of sorrow roll,
Perchance, thou then that hope may'st find,
Which proves an anchor to the soul.
Or should the friends whom thou shalt love,
Thy fond and fearless heart deceive,
