AT Sorrow's step we turn to flee,
For, petted long by youth and glee,
We shrink instinctive from the stern,
Sad face of her whose fingers burn,
Not ours, we cry, to bend the knee.
But soon we weeping, powerless, see
Our little realm laid waste. Ah me!
Our faults, our sins too late we learn
At Sorrow's step.
O mistress dread, Adversity!
Dear lessons those we learn of thee.
To friends beloved still may we yearn,
Their hands still press; with sad concern
Still may their warm hearts ready be
At Sorrow's step!