The night is dark, the waters deep,
Yet soft the billows roll;
Alas! at every breeze I weep —
The storm is in my soul.
No riches from his scanty store / My lover could impart; / He gave a boon I valued more - / He gave me all his heart!
While Thee I seek, protecting Power, Be my vain wishes stilled; And may this consecrated hour With better hopes be filled.
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