I know not if or 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
Toilís heavy chain,
Or day and night my meat be tears
On bed of pain.
Dear faces may surround my health
With smiles and glee,
Or I may dwell alone, and mirth
Be strange to me.
My bark is wafted to the strand
By 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.
Safe to the land! safe to the land!
The end is this,
And then with Him go hand in hand,
Far into bliss.