9*. We Cannot Always Trace the Way
8,8,8,4.
by J. Bowring
We cannot always trace the way
Where Thou, our gracious Lord, dost move;
But we can always surely say,
When fear its gloomy cloud will fling
O’er earth — our souls, to heaven above,
As to their sanctuary, spring,
When clouds hang o’er our darkened path,
We’ll check our dread, each doubt reprove;
For here each saint sweet comfort hath,
4
Yes, Thou art love — a truth like this
Can every gloomy thought remove,
And turn our tears and woes to bliss;
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