Verse 1
Where is the gourd, that sudden rose
To skreen a weary pilgrim’s head,
T’ assuage the violence of my woes,
And bless me with its cooling shade,
Make all my cares, and sorrows cease,
And turn my anguish into ease?

Verse 2
A worm hath smote my verdant bower,
And lo! How soon it fades away!
It could not stand the morning hour,
Or bear the scorching heat of day:
My wither’d joy, alas, is fled,
My fence is gone—my friend is dead.

Verse 3
Dead, dead are all my hopes below,
On earth I look for no relief:
No pause, or interval of woe,
No respite, or suspense of grief,
My short-liv’d happiness is o’er,
And human friendship is no more.

Verse 4
The fiery sun’s directest ray,
The veh’ement wind’s severest blast
Beat on me in this evil day:
O might I now complain my last,
Now, now lay down my fainting head,
And weary sink among the dead!

Verse 5
Better for me to die, than live
An useless life of grief and pain:
O wouldst thou, Lord, my spi’rit receive!
But purge it first from every stain,
From all my foes, and friends set free,
And then receive me up to thee.