The Heart Knoweth Its Own Bitterness The Heart Hath Its Moments Of Hopeless Gloom, As Rayless As Is The Dark Night Of The Tomb; When The Past Has No Spell, The Future No Ray, To Chase The Sad Cloud From The Spirit Away; When Earth, Though In All Her Rich Beauty Arrayed, Hath A Gloom O'Er Her Flowers - O'Er Her Skies A Dark Shade, And We Turn From All Pleasure With Loathing Away, Too Downcast, Too Spirit Sick, Even To Pray! Oh! Where May The Heart Seek, In Moments Like This, A Whisper Of Hope, Or A Faint Gleam Of Bliss? When Friendship Seems Naught But A Cold, Cheerless Flame, And Love A Still Falser And Emptier Name; When Honors And Wealth Are A Wearisome Chain, Each Link Interwoven With Grief And With Pain, And Each Solace Or Joy That The Spirit Might Crave Is Barren Of Comfort And Dark As The Grave. Lift - Lift Up Thy Sinking Heart, Pilgrim Of Life! A Sure Spell There Is For Thy SpirIt's Sad Strife; 'Tis Not To Be Found In The Well-Springs Of Earth, - Oh! No, 'Tis Of Higher And Holier Birth.