“Underneath, still underneath
Are those strong arms;
Those arms of everlasting love,
Which nothing can fatigue or move,
For if in weakness, sinking low,
To lowest depths we cannot go,
Our sinking only makes us know
Those arms are underneath.
Underneath, still underneath,
We know ‘tis so,
Nor would we doubt or seek to pry
Beneath the veil of mystery
To know why some are called apart
From willing toil of hand or heart
To lie inactive; just their part
To know those arms beneath.
Underneath, still underneath,
It calms one so;
In sorrow, sickness, pain or grief
It gives a sense of deep relief—
To know how sure our resting place,
To know the tenderness and grace,
And ever in their pressure trace
Love’s strength is underneath.”