It was no path of flowers,

Which, through this world of ours,

Beloved of the Father, thou didst tread;

And shall we in dismay

Shrink from the narrow way,

When clouds and darkness are around it spread?

O thou, who art our life,

Be with us through the strife;

Thy holy head by earth’s fierce storms was bowed;

Raise thou our eyes above,

To see a Father’s love

Beam, like a bow of promise, through the cloud.

And, O, if thoughts of gloom

Should hover o’er the tomb,

That light of love our guiding star shall be;

Our spirits shall not dread

The shadowy way to tread,

Friend, Guardian, Saviour, which doth lead to thee.