Lead, kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom, The night is dark, and I am far from home, - Keep thou my feet; I do not ask to see I was not ever thus, nor prayed that thou I loved to choose and see my path; but now I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears, Will lead me on, O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, till The night is gone; And with the morn those angel faces smile JOHN HENRY NEWMAN, 1833 When winds are raging o'er the upper ocean, So to the soul that knows thy love, O Purest, Dies in hushed stillness at its sacred door. Far, far away, the noise of passion dieth, And loving thoughts rise ever peacefully; And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er he flieth, HARRIET BEECHER STOWE. |