SONNET.
In meiner ersten Blüt'
In life's fair spring, its earliest tender bloom,
Fell Death hath orphaned me; and Sorrow's night
Hath wrapped me round; and the relentless might
Of Sickness bade my days in pain consume;
My hours were shared with Want and Grief and Gloom.
Supports, whereon as pillars firm I leant,
Have all, alas! but failed me, broke or bent;
Alone I bear as best I may my doom.
Nay, not alone! My God forsakes me not,
His Father-heart hath ne'er its truth forgot;
His eye and hand still for His child must care:
When man no help can find, then comes His hour,
When human strength is spent He shows His power,
When hid His presence seems; behold! our God is there.