We sigh for the joys that were coming, and never came;
We sit in the dark and weep, with our hearts aflame;
We feel the crush and the grind of the silent mill
Feel the crush and the grind, while our lips are still.

What, then! shall we spurn our life as a broken thing ?
Shall we fling a curse in the face of Heaven’s King ?
Happy is he who keepeth his trust through all;
He may shrink and shiver, and falter, but shall not fall.

By Ellen P. Allerton.
(last two verses)