Not that Thy boundless love, my God,
Sheds blessing on my way,
And gilds as with a heavenly beam
The darkness of earth’s day,—
Not now for breath of summer flowers,
For smiles of sunny skies,
The still, small voice of gratitude
Shall to Thine ear arise.
I bless Thee for the ministry
Of sorrow’s lonely hour,
When darkly o’er my stricken head
I see the storm-clouds lower;
Thy love can still the billows’ roar,
And whisper, “Peace; be still!”
While faith doth on Thy promise rest,
And bless the Father’s will.
The shadow and the storm must come;
O, grant that faith divine
Which triumphs o’er the might of grief,
And moulds man’s will to Thine!
In hours of deepest gloom, mine eye
One blessed ray can see;
A sunlit side that cloud must have,
Which hides Thy face from me.