Lord, what is life, without the beaming smile

Lord, what is life, without the beaming smile
Of Thine approval? Every care and grief
Hang on us heavy, — hopeless of relief,
And even joys, that else would fain beguile,

Mock with their fond illusions all the while,
Leading us blindly onward, but to leave
Amid the ruins of the self-rear'd pile,
Vainly to hope, and hopelessly to grieve,

The blighted hearts, that in their bold pursuing,
Had nothing gain'd except their own undoing.
Yet are those sorrows — joys, and those deceivings
The best success, — if thence spring such believings

As make us feel, that all this earth can be
Is nothing — worse than nothing — without Thee!