TO bluest skies that arch the way I lift my thankful eyes to-day. The sunlight falls, a golden tide, O'er airy forests, green and wide; Pure odors drift the morning through, And God has led me hitherto. Sweet flower-perfumes thrill the air, As if from censer swung at prayer; And sweeter fragrance fills my life With all my Father's goodness rife; He gives me roses after rue, And he has kept me hitherto. What joy to take his guiding hand, To trust, if not to understand,— To rest through change and toil and tears On him, whose grand eternal years In ever living youth are new, And cry, "He leads me hitherto." Though other days have left their trace Of weariness upon my face; Though sometimes from my harp the tone Hath been a @3miserere@1 moan; Yet God is good; 't is his to do, And mine to follow hitherto. Though days to come may often be With burdens crowded full for me; Though hope deferred may cast a shade Across my spirit; undismayed I'll meet them, one by one, for through Such days He brought me hitherto. No darkest night shall ever hide This beacon, flaming o'er the tide; My life shall have a sweet refrain; For, victor over grief and pain, I bless the Lord, whose mercies new Have helped and cheered me hitherto. |