Think not that the blest, whom the Lord hath befriended,
Though scorned by the world, and though smitten with grief,
Will be left by the arm, that has once been extended,
To suffer and perish without its relief.

Oh, no! When the clouds of affliction and sorrow
Encircle their souls with the darkness of night,
Thy mercy, Oh God, like the sun of to-morrow,
Shall gleam on the shadows and turn them to light.

He leaves us awhile to the billow's commotion,
To see if our faith in the storm will remain;
But soon He looks out in his smiles, and the ocean
Is hushed from its threats, and is quiet again.