For all, I thank Thee, I, the meek remitter:
For passion's secret torments without end,
The kiss of venom, and the tears too bitter,
The vengeful enemy, the slanderous friend,
The spirit's ardor on the desert squandered,
For every lash of life's deceiving thong;
I thank Thee for the wastes where I have wandered:
But heed Thou, that I need not thank Thee long.