Not that Thy boundless love, my God,

Sheds blessing on my way,

And gilds as with a heavenly beam

The darkness of earth’s day,—

Not now for breath of summer flowers,

For smiles of sunny skies,

The still, small voice of gratitude

Shall to Thine ear arise.

I bless Thee for the ministry

Of sorrow’s lonely hour,

When darkly o’er my stricken head

I see the storm-clouds lower;

Thy love can still the billows’ roar,

And whisper, “Peace; be still!”

While faith doth on Thy promise rest,

And bless the Father’s will.

The shadow and the storm must come;

O, grant that faith divine

Which triumphs o’er the might of grief,

And moulds man’s will to Thine!

In hours of deepest gloom, mine eye

One blessed ray can see;

A sunlit side that cloud must have,

Which hides Thy face from me.