For oh, my steps are weak,
And ever as I go,
Some soothing sentence speak;That I may turn my face
Through doubt's obscurity
Toward thine abiding-place,
E'en tho' I cannot see.
For lo, the way is dark;
Through mist and cloud I grope,
Save for that fitful spark,
The little flame of hope.
Lead gently, Lord, and slow,
For fear that I may fall;
I know not where to go
Unless I hear thy call.
My fainting soul doth yearn
For thy green hills afar;
So let thy mercy burn--
My greater, guiding star!
