Though the mounting waves of sorrow
Roll around me like a flood;
Though the hurt of human yearnings
Drain my heart's most precious blood;
Though the whispers of the tempter
Greet my ear till wrong seems right,—
I shall press on through the darkness,
Trusting God to give me light.
He will still the waves of sorrow
Till they ripple into calm;
He will soothe the hurt of yearnings
With a touch of tenderest balm;
He will hush the tempter's whisper
Till my troubled thought grows clear,—
Till the "angel of his presence"
Shall salute, and I shall hear.
