When the way seems long and weary,
Filled with sorrow and with pain;
When the visioned path looks dreary,
Void of sunshine, wet with rain;
Lift thy head, O weary brother;
Just across the darkened hills
There are fields of glorious brightness,
Grasses green and sparkling rills.
Truth will lead thee out of sadness,
Love will guide thee to His arms;
Underneath they wait to shelter
His dear child from all that harms.
Oh, my weary little brother,
Darkened paths are but a dream,
Pain and sorrow but lost vision;
They are never what they seem.
Ask thy God for understanding,
Pray the Lord to ope thine eyes,
All around are God's great chariots;
Run the race and win the prize.
Peace is thine for just the asking,
Rest and plenty and true bread.
Open wide thy hand and scatter
All thy crumbs; thou hast been fed.
They will multiply, my brother,
And thy kindly tender deed
Will return to thee with blessings;
Thou hast met another's need.
