That tower of strength Which stood four-square to all the winds that blew.
If I make dark my countenance, I shut my life from happier chance.
Trust me not at all, or all in all.
Forgive my grief for one removed Thy creature whom I found so fair I trust he lives in Thee and there I find him worthier to be loved.
Tis held that sorrow makes us wise.
My life has crept so long on a broken wing Through cells of madness, haunts of horror and fear, That I come to be grateful at last for a little thing.