While faith is with me, I am blest;

It turns my darkest night to day;

But, while I clasp it to my breast,

I often feel it slide away.

What shall I do if all my love,

My hopes, my toil, are cast away?

And if there be no God above

To hear and bless me when I pray?

O, help me, God! For thou alone

Canst my distracted soul relieve.

Forsake it not: it is thine own,

Though weak, yet longing to believe.

Anne Brontë (1820-49).