Tired of ourselves and of being alone.
And all the while, did we only see,
We walk in the Lord’s own company;
We fight, but ’tis he who nerves our arm,
He turns the arrows which else might harm,
And out of the storm he brings a calm.
The work which we count so hard to do,
He makes it easy, for he works too;
The days that are long to live are his,
A bit of his bright eternities,