Though wandering in a maze of fear
Or treading in a marsh of doubt,—
As one still must who lingers here
While seeking still the pathway out,—
This joyous thought the bosom fills:
Thank God, I still can see the hills!
Or as a dweller in a street
Where towering structures hide the view,
And stretch their tops the sky to meet
Like ancient Babel's tower anew;
What though their bulk the prospect mars;
Thank God, we yet may see the stars!
And so, through creeds or dogma's weft,
Or man-made superstition grim,
We turn nor to the right nor left,
But keep our hearts still fixed on Him.
No matter what the lie may mean,
Thank God that Truth may still be seen!
