Our Father, the wilderness way
Is strewn with rock and with sand,
And the feet are oft sore with the journey,
For the grass is dried up in the land.

And the sky overhead has been darkened,
The day's light e'en turned into gloom;
Its colors so fair have all faded,
And the air has lost its perfume.

No more does the rivulet's singing
Bespeak the flocks on the lea,
For its course is dried in the desert,
Long e'er it reaches the sea.

Our Father, if we are astonished,
If hushed our voice on the air,
And our eyes cast down in their sorrow,
Thou knowest 'tis not in despair.

In that hour of sorrow transcendent,
In that desert of withering drought-
In that night round a Soul all-resplendent,
We hear the words of His mouth:

"Thou art holy, O Thou that dwellest
The praise of Thy people among, "
That assent to God's holy reproving,
Turned soon all His terror to song.

To the needs of Thine own in their weakness
Thy heart holds Thee ever close bound ;
And the strength that overcame the destroyer
Now waits and attends us around.

Thou wentest into death to redeem us, [blood ;
Thou hast pledged Thine own love with
Thy Let us feel now the touch of Thy hand
Which we know will bring us to God.

Above all clouds and the darkness
Abides the blood-sprinkled Throne;
And clouds and darkness shall vanish,
The day Thou receivest Thine own.
E. R

December, 1904