For A Season There Must Be Pain For A Little, Little Space I Shall Lose The Sight Of Her Face, Take Back The Old Life Again While She Is At Rest In Her Place. For A Season This Pain Must Endure, For A Little, Little While I Shall Sigh More Often Than Smile Till Time Shall Work Me A Cure, And The Pitiful Days Beguile. For That Season We Must Be Apart, For A Little Length Of Years, Till My Life'S Last Hour Nears, And, Above The Beat Of My Heart, I Hear Her Voice In My Ears. But I Shall Not Understand Being Set On Some Later Love, Shall Not Know Her For Whom I Strove, Till She Reach Me Forth Her Hand, Saying, "Who But I Have The Right?" And Out Of A Troubled Night Shall Draw Me Safe To The Land.