Oh, Lord, Thou hidest Thy face,
And the battle-clouds prevail;
Oh, grant me Thy sweet grace,
That I may not utterly fail.
Fighting alone to-night,
With what a beating heart!
Lord Jesus in the fight,
Oh! stand not Thou apart!”
He made no comment at all when she had ended the poem, but in truth it had filled his mind with other thoughts. And the dim, dreary streets through which they walked, and the gradually increasing light in the east, seemed like a picture of his own life, for there dawned for him in his sadness a clearer revelation of the Unseen than had ever before been granted him.