Faith is the flower that blooms unseen By mountains of immortal green -- A hoped-for harvest in the skies, In which the reaper never dies -- A tree to which the power is given To lift its branches into heaven; And from whose boughs of gorgeous fruit A loftier tree shall take its root. Lord! we are grafted into thine, When broken off from Adam's vine; And so, from that degenerate tree, We grow into the life of thee! For, by the prunings of thy word, Are we then purged into the Lord; And like Mount Zion we shall stand The Temples of our native land. Lord! if the stars should take their flight, And vanish from the halls of night; And if the morning should appear, And vanish from the evening near; And if the rivers should run dry, And every flower that decks them die; And if the world should cease to be -- I would not lose my trust in thee. |