How bleak the desert places lie!
No spear of green nor dew-fringed flower
Beneath the bright bowl of the sky
To bless a single burning hour!
'Twas thus my heart unfruitful lay,
A wilderness, a barren land,
Until I found the Truth, the Way—
Until I took my Father's hand.
His tender mercies lead me where
The grass of meekness, wet with dew,
Now clothes the earth in pastures fair,
And leaves of healing bloom anew.
His words are water springs of love
Where parched and thirsty hearts rejoice,
And blessed showers from above
Drop down on all who hear His voice.
Now living streams of goodness flow
Where stretched a bleak and stony field,
And richest fruits of Spirit grow—
Sweet promise of the harvest yield.
