Patrick Regan has kindly shared the material from his George Heath site with readers of the Victorian Web, who may wish to consult the original.
When the soul is o'ershadowed with gloom,
With sorrow, and sadness, and care;
When the future seems dark as the tomb,
And the present a gulf of despair;
When life seems a desolate blight,
A burden we loathe every day;
When hope swiftly wingeth its flight,
And pleasure doth vanish away;
When the soul broods in sorrow alone,
And chides its unchangeable fate;
When the heart seems congealing to stone,
'Neath misfortune's unbearable weight —
Perchance a sweet, innocent child
Has pressed on your pale cheek a kiss,
And said, "How I love you!" and smiled
With a look of ineffable bliss.
Or perchance an affectionate wife
Has bid you hope on to the end;
Or your hand has been grasped mid the strife
In the warm-hearted clasp of a friend.
When beautiful, eloquent eyes
Look tenderly down on your own;
When hearts with your own sympathise,
And show you, you are not alone;
What a beam of ineffable light,
What a soul-thrilling, heart-cheering ray
Disperses the gloom of the night,
And turns all your darkness to day.
How it gives you new courage and hope,
And lightens your burden of care;
Gives you strength with affliction to cope,
And bids you no longer despair.
Last modified 3 September 2002