When winds of affliction
    Blow cold on my rest,
And the pang that will sleep not
    Is loud in my breast,
Still however clinging
    These troubles may be,
I can turn from them, Mary,
    To think upon thee.

When Weariness sleepeth
    And Care is at rest,
When Happiness dreameth
    Of all it loves best,
Then as the moon gazes
    Upon the broad sea,
My soul o’er thy dwelling
    Looks down upon thee!