And they shall cheer the way when cometh night
To thee or others who in dark would grope
But for the courage of thy humble light
Fed by the oil of promise—“All comes right.”
Speak but the little words of trust
And they shall rob the struggle of its cross,
The heart of sorrow’s bitterness, the dust
Of victory o’er our dead—for out of loss
Trust sees eternal gain transform the dross.