Pilgrim! do thickest clouds of grief and woe
Shut from thine eye that sweet and heav'nly light,
So lately spread upon thy pathway bright?
Is a dark wing outstretch'd o'er all below?
Fear not: more glorious beams shall surely flow
From fount perennial on thy gladden'd sight.
Thy God is faithful. In his love and might
Thou'rt safe; and naught thy bliss can overthrow.
Gaze now upon the wondrous cross. There hung,――
Victim for sins, which claim'd avenging hell,――
God's own beloved Son in agony:
Then hear the strains in heav'nly arches sung.
Can He, who gave the gift unspeakable,
Deny thee strength, and hope, and light, and joy?