I know not if or dark or bright

Shall be my lot;

If that wherein my hopes delight

Be best, or not.

2 It may be mine to drag for years

Toil’s heavy chain;

Or day and night my meat be tears

On bed of pain.

3 Dear faces may surround my hearth

With smiles and glee;

Or I may dwell alone, and mirth

Be strange to me.

4 My bark is wafted to the strand

By breath divine;

And on the helm there rests a hand

Other than mine.

5 One who has known in storms to sail

I have on board;

Above the raving of the gale

I hear my Lord.