FOREBODINGS.
Reading edition
What weight is this which presses on my soul? Powerless to rise, I sink amidst the dust: The days in solemn cycle o'er me roll, While, praying, I can only wait and trust. —Trust the dear Hand that all my life has led Through pastures green, by waters pure and still: If now He leads me through dark ways and dread, Shall I dare murmur, whatsoe'er His will?