How apt the world to misconstrue our deeds,
Tho rising from the inmost depths of heart,
With earnest wish some comfort to impart
To some poor soul whom solace sorely needs;

Tho from the sacrifice our own soul bleeds,
The world looks on and says it is some art
Of cunning we apply in hope to start
A cause which to our own advantags leads.

Cold world, oh why mistrust our motives? When
Our own hearts feel so keenly pangs of grief,
Why may we not make glad the hearts of men?
God grant us power to give them more relief!

Oft he who shields mankind from grief and sorrow
Is paid in pain and heart-ache on the morrow.