When I come to my Father's house he will hear me:
I shall not need
With words implore
Compassion at my Father's door;
With yearning mute my heart will plead,
And my Father's heart will hear me.
One thought all the day hath still caressed me:
Though cloud o'ercast
Is the way I go,
Though steep is the hill I must climb, yet, oh,
When evening falls and the light is past,
At my Father's house I will rest me!
For thither,—whatsoe'er betide me,
Howe'er I stray,
Beset by fears,
Wearied by effort, or blinded by tears,—
Ah, surely I shall find my way,
Though none there be to guide me!