There is surcease from keenest pain,
There is release from sin's dark stain,
When I let God be God to me.
Within Love's all-embracing arms,
I hide me safe from fear's alarms;
And worldly pleasures come to be
But tinkling cymbals unto me.
And I can need no other skill
Than willingness to do His will,
When I let God be God to me.
My tongue can form no nobler phrase
Than humble prayer to voice His praise;
And thus His image I must be
As time yields to eternity.
E'en death itself I cannot see,
When I let God be God to me.
*Miscellaneous Writings By Mary Baker Eddy, page 15.
