"Who is this that cometh up from the wilderness, leaning upon her beloved?" Cant. viii. 5.
Alas! We travel in the desert now,
Obscure our way, perplexed the paths we tread;
With thorns and briars the vales are overspread,
The mountains fright us with their angry brow.
But who is this that hears us in distress,
And when we fear we ne'er shall travel through,
Doth sudden burst upon our raptured view,
And goes before us in the wilderness?
The Savior comes! We lean upon his arm,
And resting there, find strength amid our woe;
The tempests cease, that filled us with alarm,
And o'er the burning plains the fountains flow.
No more the storms assail, the thunders roll,
But angels' songs are heard, and pleasures fill the soul.
— American Cottage Life (1850) XIV.