Poetic Lyrics

I know not if dark or bright shall be my lot;
if that wherein my hopes delight be best or not.
It may be mine to drag for years toil’s heavy chain,
or day and night my portion tears on bed of pain.

My soul is carried to the shore on breath divine,
and on its helm there rests a hand other than mine.
One who was known in storms to sail I have on board;
above the roaring of the gale, I hear my Lord.

He holds me when the billows smite, I shall not fall!
Though sorrows rise, yet mercies flow, He tempers all.
Safe to the land, safe to the land, the end is this,
and then with Him go hand in hand far into bliss.