BEFORE me lies the trackless waste
Of burning desert sand,
But on I speed in earnest haste,
Led by my Father’s hand.
To right, to left, no path appears,
Around are beasts of prey,
Yet, sweet assurance in my fears,
Thou, Jesus, art my way.
And should I sigh, “Tomorrow’s care,”
Or weep my tears at night,
Still fall the lines in places fair,
The Spirit is my Light.
Amazing grace! a worm to be
My glorious God’s concern,
Yet all my steps His eye can see,
And this I daily learn.
Since first, a pilgrim, Home I sought,
Where Thou, my Lord, hast gone,
Thy Cloudy Pillar guidance brought
And ceaselessly hath shone.
At times ‘neath spreading palm trees’ shade
Where sweetened waters rise,
Rejoicing in the rest thus made,
Towards Home I turn mine eyes.
Again, where neither shade nor well,
But barren wastes are seen,
Thy presence—oh! what peace to tell—
More sweet than shade has been.
Yet in those hours where human hope
Hides beneath gloom and shroud,
When power is gone with trial to cope,
Most brightly shines Thy cloud.
‘Tis then Thy way becomes our choice,
Thy peace, Lord, fills the breast,
And though we weep, we yet rejoice,
“In Thee our souls have rest.”
Ah, Lord! ’tis in our griefs that we
Learn Who and What Thou art,
No vessel holds so much of Thee
As the poor broken heart!
Before me lies the trackless waste,
Beyond that waste, my Home,
Thy presence with me, on I haste,
Content till Thou shalt come.