A rugged path that often hath
A stormy sky,
So drear and dark while round our bark
The waves run high;
A few bright hours and then the flowers
Of hope decay.
No sunny beams, no starry gleams
Illume our way.

From early morn we struggle on
'Til evening comes;
With toil oppress'd and needing rest
We seek our homes,
And some are bright with happy light
And hearths aglow
While others near are dark and drear
With want and woe.

We watch, we pray, and oft a ray
Of joy appears,
'Tis when we smile and for a while
Forget vague fears.
Yet still are we far out at sea
'Mid storm and strife;
Beneath the waves are waiting graves,
And this is life.