It matters not what be thy lot,
So Love doth guide;
For storm or shine, pure peace is thine,
Whate'er betide.
And of these stones, or tyrants’ thrones,
God able is
To raise up seed — in thought and deed —
To faithful His.
Aye, darkling sense, arise, go hence!
Our God is good.
False fears are foes — truth tatters those,
When understood.
Love looseth thee, and lifteth me,
Ayont hate's thrall:
There Life is light, and wisdom might,
And God is All.
The centuries break, the earth-bound wake,
God's glorified!
Who doth His will — His likeness still —
Is satisfied.