FAITH."His way is in the whirlwind and the storm, and the clouds are the dust of His feet."
![T](http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/6/6d/Poems_Eckley_T.jpg/48px-Poems_Eckley_T.jpg)
The sun be shrouded from my sight,
The cold wind blow, the night-breeze sigh,
And oft obscure my heavenly light—
Still He is there.
The storm may darken round my head,
The rain may drench, the tempest beat,
And yet I read these clouds are but
The "dust" of my Redeemer's feet,—
And He is there.
The rain may drench, the tempest beat,
And yet I read these clouds are but
The "dust" of my Redeemer's feet,—
And He is there.
What matters it, the angry sky,
So He is shrouded in its gloom;
The lowering cloud that oft distils
In love upon my tented home,
If He is there?
So He is shrouded in its gloom;
The lowering cloud that oft distils
In love upon my tented home,
If He is there?