Abiding

JOSEPHINE L. GROUSE

How sweet to place my hand in Thine,
O Father, Friend, and Guide;
And when false fears beset me,
Within Thy love to hide.

What secret place could be more sweet,
When terrors would alarm;
What shelter could be safer
To keep Thy child from harm?

While storms of sense may roar without,
Confiding trust doth still
The angry surges of my fears,
The rage of human will.

It is not hard to follow Thee,
My Father, Friend, and Guide;
For Thou dost bid the storm be still,
When I in Thee abide.

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