Out of the cloud and dust
Lift me to thee on high.
The crooked paths make plain,
The burden light;
Touch me and heal my pain,
And clear my sight.
O, take my hand in Thine,
And lead me so
That all my steps incline
In Thy right way to go.
Out of this awful night
Some whisper send,
That I may feel my God,
My loving friend.
O, let me feel and see
Thy hand and face;
And let me learn of Thee
My true right place.
For I am Thine, and Thou
Art also mine.
Unto Thy will I bow,
Helper divine!
DO YOU HEAR THE WOMEN PRAYING?
[Read before the Women's Prayer League of Portland, Oregon, May 27, 1874.]
Do you hear the women praying, oh my brothers?
Do you hear what words they say?
These, this free-born nation's wives and mothers,
Bowing, where you proudly stand, to pray!
Can you coldly look upon their faces,
Pale, sad faces, seamed with frequent tears;
