Some barren waste with thorns o'ergrown,
A voice of love, in gentlest tone,
Whispers, "Still cling to Me!"
Though faith and hope awhile be tried,
I ask not, need not, aught beside;
How safe, how calm, how satisfied,
The souls that cling to Thee!
They fear not Life's rough storms to brave,
Since Thou art near, and strong to save;
Nor shudder e'en at Death's dark wave,