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Glad is my heart this Autumn morn
Though oft by cruel fortune torn;
Happy I am, though bitter tears
Have mingled with the flood of years;
Let clouds of blackness veil my sky,
Hope shall the gathering storm defy;
Let tempests howl and thunders roar,
And surges beat life's billowy shore;
Be mine, the eagle's dauntless flight,
Above the storm's impending night,
Where bathed in day's serenest glow,
The clouds float tranquilly below;
Be mine, the skylark's loftiest aim,
From angry storm and raging main,
To soar aloft on joyful wing,
Rise far above the clouds and sing.