Why art than cast down, O my soul? and why art thou disquieted within me? hope thou in God; for I shall yet praise Him, who is the health of my countenance, and my God.--PS. xlii. 11.
Ah! why by passing clouds oppressed,
Should vexing thoughts distract thy breast?
Turn thou to Him in every pain,
Whom never suppliant sought in vain;
Thy strength in joy's ecstatic day,
Thy hope, when joy has passed away.
H. F. LYTE.