When the clouds of sense seem darkest,
All the waves of sin roll high,
May we cling to Thee, our Life-boat,
Till the storm thoughts droop and die.
What a joy is ours who venture
Out upon life's stormy sea,
To look up through mists of matter
Till we catch a glimpse of Thee.
Blessed Master, lead thy children
Through the desert wastes of time,
To the promised land of Science
Where our lives are hid in Thine.
