WHEN over-burdened with its care My soul seems yielding to despair, I think of him to whom today All men a golden tribute pay. Who in the midst of trials sore His burden uncomplaining bore, And out of bitterness ran on To splendid laurels nobly won; And from the thought of him I too Gain confidence and courage true, And faith sublime, that thro' the night Mine eyes will find their way to light. |