In His Hands
‘Twixt gleams of joy and clouds of doubt Our feelings come and go; Our best estate is tossed about In ceaseless ebb and flow. No mood of feeling, form of thought Is constant for a day; But thou, 0 Lord, thou changest not: The same thou art alway. I grasp thy strength, make it mine own, My heart with peace is blest; I lose my hold, and then comes down Darkness, and cold unrest. Let me no more my comfort draw From my frail hold of thee, In this alone rejoice with awe—- Thy mighty grasp of me. Out of...