My Father! break the cheerless gloom,
And bid my heart its calm resume.
3 Is there an hour of peace and joy,
When hope is all my soul’s employ;—
My Father! still my hopes will roam,
Until they rest with Thee, their home.
4 The noontide blaze, the midnight scene,
The dawn, or twilight’s sweet serene,
The glow of health, the dying hour,
Shall own my Father’s grace and power.