Christ is the Water of Life

The Well Is Deep

Life is a journey; long is the road,

And when the noontide is high

Souls that are weary faint 'neath their load,

Long for the waters, and cry:

Refrain: 

The well is deep and I require

A draught of the water of life,

But none can quench my soul's desire

For a draught of the water of life;

Till one draws near who the cry will heed,

Helper of men in their time of need,

And I, believing, find indeed

That Christ is the water of life.

Life is a seeking, life is a quest,

Eager and longing desire;

Unto the true things, unto the best,

Godward our spirits aspire.

Life is a finding; vain wand'rings cease

When from the Saviour we claim

All we have longed for, solace and peace,

And we have life in His name.

(Albert Orsborn)

Psalm 23

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: 

He leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul: 

He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name's sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, 

I will fear no evil: for Thou art with me; 

Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: 

Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. 

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: 

And I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.

When I see the Lord as my Shepherd, I see myself as a needy, dependent, rebellious, foolish sheep, and I see Christ as the One who protects me, leads me, feeds me, restrains me, carries me, chastens me. I trust Him, I know His voice, I follow Him.

The King of love my Shepherd is, 

Whose goodness faileth never; 

I nothing lack if I am His, 

And He is mine forever. 

Where streams of living water flow 

My ransomed soul He leadeth, 

And where the verdant pastures grow, 

With food celestial feedeth. 

Perverse and foolish oft I strayed, 

But yet in love He sought me, 

And on His shoulder gently laid, 

And home rejoicing brought me. 

In death's dark vale I fear no ill 

With Thee, dear Lord, beside me; 

Thy rod and staff my comfort still, 

Thy cross before to guide me. 

Thou spread'st a table in my sight; 

Thine unction grace bestoweth; 

And O the transport of delight 

With which my cup o'erfloweth!

And so through all the length of days 

Thy goodness faileth never: 

Good Shepherd, may I sing Thy praise 

Within Thy house forever! 

--Henry W. Baker

(And here is my favorite arrangement of "The King of Love My Shepherd Is"...)

Goodbye June...

My dear one, 

The month of June has been profitable and busy. I enjoyed my first international travel experience as a guest performer/teacher, joined a fantastic gym, bought a new car at a great price (and in a great color), and successfully ignored a birthday. As busy as June has been, I've been able to pull back a bit, savor quiet moments, and enjoy fellowship with dear church folks and colleagues. National news headlines are more sobering than ever, but they push me to study the Scriptures more hungrily than ever. An acquaintance renewed back in January after eight long months renders me silently (and unjustifiably) hopeful. My admiration for this one only grows, but I can't speak much on this matter without feeling like a fool... I was listening to the words of an Ella Fitzgerald song that resonated well with my romantic dreaming:

Imagination is funny 

It makes a cloudy day sunny 

Makes a bee think of honey 

Just as I think of you

Imagination is crazy 

Your whole perspective gets hazy 

Starts you asking a daisy 

"What to do, what to do?"

Have you ever felt 

A gentle touch and then a kiss 

And then, and then 

Find it's only your imagination again? 

Oh well...

Imagination is silly 

You go around willy-nilly 

For example, I go around wanting you 

And yet I can't imagine that you want me too

Knowing you

My dear one, 

My thoughts are a jumble, but if I wait to craft the perfect letter, it will never materialize...

Do I know you? To know you will be to be proud of you, your character, your accomplishments. Knowing you will make me want to introduce you to my family and friends. 

My heart has kept someone in prayer for over a year and a half. Someone whose eight-month absence left an empty place in my heart. Someone whose return this past winter brought renewed though fragile hope. Someone whose character and accomplishments have earned him the respect of all those around him. Someone with whom I'd be proud to be identified. Someone who tonight made me break into a bigger smile than I've felt for some time. 

But when it is someone who may never dare to approach a closer friendship with me, what am I to do but ask the Lord for strength to accept His will?

The intensity of my desire for attention and affection is nothing compared to Christ's jealousy for my devotion and allegiance. My longings for companionship give me a tiny glimpse of the paradisal communion between God and our first parents.

So as I fight for sleep on this sleepless night, I leave you, my dear one, with this:

Liszt's piano transcription of Schumann's Widmung ("Dedication")... 

Du meine Seele, du mein Herz,
Du meine Wonn’, O du mein Schmerz,
Du meine Welt, in der ich lebe,
Mein Himmel du, darein ich schwebe,
O du mein Grab, in das hinab
Ich ewig meinen Kummer gab.

Du bist die Ruh, du bist der Frieden,
Du bist vom Himmel mir beschieden.
Daß du mich liebst, macht mich mir wert,
Dein Blick hat mich vor mir verklärt,
Du hebst mich liebend über mich,
Mein guter Geist, mein beßres Ich!

(text by Friedrich Rückert)

Work that matters

My dear one,

If you are the sort of man I envision you to be, then you will appreciate this quote I just read...

Art is too important a term to be used just for painters. And sculptors. And playwrights. And actors. And architects of a certain type. No I think we need to broaden it to graphic designers and salespeople and bosses. To lay preachers, to gifted politicians and occasionally, to the guy who sweeps the floor. Art is a human act, something that's done with the right sort of intent. Art is when we do work that matters, in a creative way, in a way that touches them and changes them for the better. (Seth Godin)

Praying for you tonight... I leave you with this captivating video.
- Your Evenstar

Psalm 46

Verses 1-3, 10a...
God is our refuge and strength,
    a very present help in trouble.
Therefore we will not fear though the earth gives way,
    though the mountains be moved into the heart of the sea,
    though its waters roar and foam,
    though the mountains tremble at its swelling... 

Be still, and know that I am God. 

Psalm 46 is known as the text on which Martin Luther based his mighty "Ein' Feste Burg." But another adaptation has been close to my heart recently. I look to the Lord for strength as I fight for joy amidst the storms of doubt, loneliness, and fear. 

This quote from Matthew Henry's commentary on Nehemiah 8:10 is a powerful reminder:

The joy of the Lord will arm us against the assaults of our spiritual enemies and put our mouths out of taste for those pleasures with which the tempter baits his hooks.

Lazy days of summer

My dear one,

I fear my summer laziness and melancholic tendencies have been playing off of each other. I give partial credit for my recent gloom to the fact that my birthday crept up on me last week. I try in vain to ignore the fact that each passing year means the further diminishing of my chances that you will ever find me...

I was ill for several days recently with some kind of summer bug. It had been years since I slept ALL DAY! Thankfully I got back on my feet in time for my responsibilities at my church's Vacation Bible School. The theme this year was Pilgrim's Progess, and John Bunyan himself showed up each day to read a children's adaptation of his classic allegory. I had the charge of 13 little "pilgrims" during the week. How precious to hear 160+ little voices singing "He Who Would Valiant Be"!

I do believe I'll need a bit of valor myself for the coming two years, as I've just been appointed as the director of a local organization within my field. I shudder at this responsibility - for although I have been happy to be on the board for several terms in various capacities, I am not one to want to "spearhead" anything! Quite content to serve in the background, thank you very much! About the only good thing I can see about all this is that it will look good on my CV (something which the administration of my institution seems to care about, ha!). Can you tell my heart is not in this? I just want to hole up as little ol' me! But if only you were here to whisper in my ear that you're proud of me... perhaps then I could find some joy in the tasks that lie before me!

Every once in a while I feel a little catch in my heart when I observe a smile that reminds me of what yours would be like, or see handwriting that I imagine you to have, or remember a voice that I could predict as belonging to you. Such fragile threads of hope my heart still holds to!

A summer concert series in which I participate has an upcoming concert featuring classic tunes of George Gershwin and Jerome Kern. Several of which have long been favorites of mine - because they have echoes of you in them, of course. I hope you realize that these songs have been written so that one day you can help me learn to dance!

Until then, my dear one...

Reaching for the Moon

I heard Ella Fitzgerald sing this song tonight on my Pandora station, and it made me think of you...

The moon and you appear to be
So near and yet so far from me.
And here am I on a night in June,
Reaching for the moon and you.

I wonder if we'll ever meet; 
My song of love is incomplete.
I'm just the words, looking for the tune,
Reaching for the moon and you.

(Irving Berlin)

Of noble ladies and magnolia blossoms

My dear one, 

Books are my constant companions these days. Without the pressures of school-year obligations save for a bit of summer-school teaching, I have extra time at home for domestic activities such as cooking and cleaning, charitable endeavors through my church - and also for the intellectual pleasure of reading. The more I pore over books old and new, the more I come to love the writers of generations past. Like a palate becomes schooled to appreciate fine cuisine over fast food, I would much rather digest the works of Augustine, John Owen, Jonathan Edwards, J.R.R. Tolkien, and C. S. Lewis than nibble on the writings of Max Lucado, Chicken Soup for the Soul, and Amish vampire novels. That's not to say that there are no modern authors I enjoy, but rather that I tend to have a mindset of "What more can be said that hasn't been said already?" I love books that make me think, books whose phrases are finely crafted and carefully thought through, books that make me want to underline whole pages...

Speaking of Tolkien, I am finally digging into the Lord of the Rings books (currently half-way through The Two Towers) after many years of resolving to do so. I love the vividness of Tolkien's characters - especially his noble ladies and the descriptions of how the men held them in such high esteem (right now I'm thinking of Galadriel and Éowyn). Is that perhaps how you might think of me one day? I pray to be worthy of that esteem, of your esteem.

I confess that I did "watch" the DVD version of The Lord of the Rings back in 2005 or 2006, but was rather bored and actually fast-forwarded through some of it (*gasp*). But now, to actually read Tolkien's words... wow. There is such weight and beauty and poetry to the writing, and I am becoming fascinated with Tolkien's mythopoeic constructs. Little wonder that Tolkien scholars can spend entire careers immersed in this...

I sip my evening cup of tea which is accompanied by a crumpet topped with lemon curd. While listening to the soft strains of Ralph Vaughan Williams. Embracing my English roots, to be sure! But so as not to forget my current southern habitation, I share this glimpse of the magnolia beauties that have returned for the summer. I captured this view from my living room window, the sliding glass doors before which I sit and think of you often, my dear one.

Psalm 55

Verse 22... 

    Cast your burden on the LORD,
        and He will sustain you;
    He will never permit
        the righteous to be moved.  

(Beautiful setting from Felix Mendelssohn's oratorio Elijah here.)

Octavius Winslow:

It is by an act of simple, prayerful faith that we transfer our cares and anxieties, our sorrows and needs, to the Lord. Jesus invites you come and lean upon Him, and to lean with all your might upon that arm that balances the universe, and upon that bosom that bled for you upon the soldier's spear!

But you doubtingly ask, "Is the Lord able to do this thing for me?" And thus, while you are debating a matter about which there is not the shadow of a shade of doubt, the burden is crushing your gentle spirit to the dust. And all the while Jesus stands at your side and lovingly says, "Cast your burden upon Me — and I will sustain you. I am God Almighty! I bore the load of your sin and condemnation up the steep of Calvary; and the same power of omnipotence, and the same strength of love that bore it all for you then — is prepared to bear your need and sorrow now. Roll it all upon Me! Child of My love! Lean hard! Let Me feel the pressure of your care. I know your burden, child! I shaped it — I poised it in My own hand and made no proportion of its weight to your unaided strength. For even as I laid it on, I said I shall be near, and while she leans on Me, this burden shall be Mine, not hers. So shall I keep My child within the encircling arms of My own love. Here lay it down! Do not fear to impose it on a shoulder which upholds the government of worlds! Yet closer come! You are not near enough! I would embrace your burden, so I might feel My child reposing on My bosom. You love Me! I know it. Doubt not, then. But, loving Me, lean hard!"

Chameleons

My dear one, 

It's a cold, rainy Monday, yet my spirits are inexplicably high, "against all hope, believing in hope." And I can't stop listening to this exuberant anthem. It has been stuck in my head all weekend.

The Lord's Day was a great refreshment and encouragement to me spiritually. I spent Sunday afternoon in the kitchen, preparing for the evening college dinner a casserole and the pumpkin muffins that invariably disappear almost as soon as I set them out on the food tables. I sat down to join some of the others that had brought food for the young people. In the ensuing conversation, I observed in myself the phenomenon that occurs perhaps too frequently -- that of showing others only a part of who I am. With some professional colleagues I hide my quiet, simple, domestic bent. With certain friends I attempt to dismiss my doctorate and career track altogether. And with others, I inadvertently put on a super-cheery act to try to win them over. Which is the real me? Why do I wish myself to be younger when with some people, and attempt to be more mature with others? Even with my own immediate family, I don't bare my heart and soul. I feel like only the Lord can really know and accept me for who I am. But I think this is a fault I need to correct. My fear of being vulnerable must be replaced by a love for others. My chameleon-like behavior reveals the tendency I have to think too often and too much of myself. And that is, simply put, pride. I must take the words of C. S. Lewis to heart: "True humility is not thinking less of yourself; it is thinking of yourself less."

Sweetheart, you'll have to be patient with me. It may take me a while to truly be open with you about who I am deep down. These letters are a good exercise for me in the meantime.

Waiting for you, 
Me

Thoughts about my thoughts

My dear one, 

It was so good to come home early today, the final lesson of the day being canceled. To step into my clean apartment, kick off my shoes (note, you'll never find me wearing shoes inside my home), turn on some Rachmaninoff, and make some tea was a needed "breather." The beautiful flowers from my student still sit on my table, bringing some extra cheeriness to my small living room.

Lately I have been striving to fill my mind with thoughts of Christ, especially as I find myself unwittingly and increasingly attracted to a particular individual. Instead of "hoping against hope," I keep reminding myself that only Christ can truly satisfy. My stewings, schemings, pinings, and daydreamings will never give me contentment or resolve the deepest problems I face. Only my dear Saviour can still my heart, comfort my loneliness, quench my thirst, and grant peace to my soul. I sing the words to myself, over and over, "In the morning when I rise, give me Jesus. And when I am alone, give me Jesus. And when I come to die, give me Jesus. You may have all this world, give me Jesus" (two of my favorite renditions here and here).

I am re-reading a precious, precious book that I would strongly recommend to any Christian: Octavius Winslow's The Fullness of Christ. If I attempted to select a few favorite quotes from this work, I'd end up copying practically the entirety, but here is just one tiny gem for this afternoon:

"I believe that no individual knows what true happiness or real joy is until he knows Christ; and that no individual really enjoys God's temporal blessings, the beauties of creation, the marvelous works of His hands, until his spiritual eye has been opened; and then that new-created soul sees more glory in the works of God, more beauty in nature, more wonder in the marvelous operations of God's hands, than the most profound philosopher with the film of spiritual darkness still on his mental eye. The man who has not an eye, a spiritual eye, to see the beauties of revelation, the glory of Christ, and the kingdom of God, has a veil on his soul, and cannot trace, admire, and adore the wisdom and power, goodness and beauty of God, even in nature."

And so as I listen to beautiful piano music serenading my humble abode, smile at the gift of blooming flowers on my table, close my eyes and sip the soothing hot tea from my mug, I am reminded that God's greatest gift to me is Christ. That will always be a constant, no matter what other comforts, hopes, and enjoyments are removed or denied from my earthly life.

If my heart skips a beat when a certain someone smiles at me, how much more should I be affected by the knowledge that Christ looks at me with infinite tenderness and love! I may thrill to hear the musicality of a talented pianist, but more glorious is the sound of the Lord "rejoicing over me with singing" (Zeph. 3:17). I perhaps look for opportunities to talk to someone and get to know that person, but do I do the same with my Father who delights to show me more about Himself in His Word and who delights to hear my voice in earnest prayer to Him?

My dear one, don't look to me to satisfy your deepest needs. We both need Christ above all, and by seeking Him we both, separate yet together, will be pursuing the best He has to offer.

O Christ, in Thee my soul hath found,
And found in Thee alone,
The peace, the joy I sought so long,
The bliss till now unknown.

Refrain:
Now none but Christ can satisfy,
None other name for me;
There's love, and life, and lasting joy,
Lord Jesus, found in Thee.

I sighed for rest and happiness,
I yearned for them, not Thee;
But while I passed my Saviour by,
His love laid hold on me.

I tried the broken cisterns, Lord,
But ah! the waters failed!
E'en as I stooped to drink they'd fled,
And mocked me as I wailed.

The pleasures lost I sadly mourned,
But never wept for Thee,
Till grace the sightless eyes received,
Thy loveliness to see. 

(Frances Bevan)

Pretend the dream is true...

"Teatime Daydreams" by Michael & Inessa Garmesh

In the evening
When the kettle's on for tea,
An old familiar feeling settles over me;
And it's your face I see,
And I believe that you are there.

In a garden
When I stop to touch a rose,
And feel the petal soft and sweet against my nose,
I smile and I suppose
That somehow maybe you are there.

When I'm dreaming
And I find myself awake without a warning,
Then I rub my eyes and fantasize
And all at once I realize...

It's morning,
And my fantasy is fading.
Like a distant star at dawn,
My dearest dream is gone.
I often think there's just one thing to do:
Pretend the dream is true,
And tell myself that you are there.

("You Are There" sung by Stacey Kent)

My secrets all want you to know them

 

"Rendezvous" by Andrei Krioutchenko

Am I dreaming such absurdities
I'm flying, and you're here with me
We finger paint the sky
Chase constellations sliding by
Connect their dots and dance on tightropes in between
We twirl and laugh about these crazy things we dream
And then I kiss you
And I wake myself
Still laughing
It's daybreak, and the whole world's new
The sun smiles, but where are you?
Wish I could hold you again
Nothing a daydream cannot mend
You smile and promise me you'll always be around
I whisper hallelujah's and sing your name out loud
But no one hears me
Well, at least for now
I'm smiling
You can't write such a comedy
Without some conspiracy
Inside there's mutiny and mayhem
My secrets all want you to know them
I shed a tear because this love can never be
But as the saying goes it doesn't hurt to dream
As long as you know
That I find it all 

So amusing

Chris Rice, "Amusing"

Windy Friday evening

My dear one, 

I made it to the weekend! No plans for this evening. I did make a special treat for supper though... bacon-wrapped dates, aka "Devils on Horseback."

Sometimes I wonder if I think about you too much. Do I set unrealistic expectations of who you will be? I do have a mental picture of what you are like... I imagine you to dress well and speak well, but not to the point of being pretentious. You'd be strong yet sensitive. Quiet and intelligent. You would not be the life of the party with girls fawning over you; I'd find you scanning the contents of the bookshelf in the corner, and I'd be happy to join you there.

Is creating such a mental picture harmful? Do you do the same? I would fear falling short of such an ideal as you must be fashioning for your future someone, and would beg you to accept me as I am... And so I must be careful to be realistic in my dreams of you.

Some enchanted evening
You may see a stranger,
You may see a stranger
Across a crowded room.
And somehow you know,
You know even then,
That somewhere you'll see her
Again and again.

Oh, some enchanted evening
Someone may be laughing,
You may hear her laughing
Across a crowded room.
And night after night,
As strange as it seems,
The sound of her laughter
Will sing in your dreams.

Who can explain it?
Who can tell you why?
Fools give you reasons,
Wise men never try.

Some enchanted evening
When you find your true love,
When you feel her call you
Across a crowded room,
Then fly to her side,
And make her your own.
Or all through your life
You may dream all alone.

Once you have found her,
Never let her go.
Once you have found her,
Never let her go!

All my tomorrows

Photo by John Farnan

Today I may not have a thing at all,
Except for just a dream or two;
But I've got lots of plans for tomorrow,
And all my tomorrows belong to you.

Right now it may not seem like spring at all;
We're drifting and the laughs are few.
But I've got rainbows planned for tomorrow,
And all my tomorrows belong to you.

No one knows better than I
That luck keeps passing me by, that's fate.
But with you there at my side,
I'll soon be turning the tide, just wait.

As long as I've got arms that cling at all,
It's you that I'll be clinging to.
And all the dreams I dream, beg, or borrow,
On some bright tomorrow they'll all come true.

And all my bright tomorrows belong to you. 

(sung by Frank Sinatra here)

Rainy Saturday afternoon

My dear one,

It's hard to believe one of my brothers will be wed in a matter of weeks. I'm still wrestling with my feelings about this. Since the time he proposed last summer, there has been a strange distance in our relationship. Normal, I'm told by many, is such a change when a young man leaves his family to take a wife. But I somehow thought that my relationships with my immediate family members would never waver from what they have always been. I have taken it as a matter of course for friendships to dissolve when my friends have found their special someone, but it grieves my heart to see these close family bonds being loosened. I must confess I dread this wedding. Weddings are difficult for me anyway, but for it to be the one of my own younger brother makes it even harder. I breathed a small sigh of relief when I was requested to provide the music rather than fulfilling some kind of bridesmaid role. (After all, I do not really know the bride, having only met her for brief minutes!) My parents don't really know this girl either... which brings up an interesting point about you, my unknown sweetheart. I never want there to be unnecessary tension between you and my parents. I would hope you could get to know them as your relationship with me develops, so that they can grow to trust you as I grow to love you.

But enough about that...

I slept in late this morning and was wakened with weather alerts on my phone regarding severe thunderstorms and tornado warnings. So then and there I pretty much determined that I would stay home in pajamas all day, enjoying my cozy little apartment! I lit my candles, turned on some Ella Fitzgerald on Pandora, made breakfast (eggs, coffee, and a clementine), spent some time reading and praying through Ephesians, phoned my grandmother, replied to a few emails from my students regarding the new semester, and pulled out some repertoire I need to practice for a March performance. Were you able to relax at all today, my dear one? Were your hours spent in solitude as mine were?

Every time it rains I think of you,

And that's the time I feel so blue.

The rain starts to fall

Across my window's pane,

But it's raining teardrops from my eyes.

Every single cloud would disappear,

I'd wear a smile, if you were here.

So, baby, won't you hurry?

Because I love you so,

And it's raining teardrops from my eyes.

(sung by Ella Fitzgerald here)

Merry Christmas, darling!

Greeting cards have all been sent,
The Christmas rush is through;
But I still have one wish to make,
A special one for you:

Merry Christmas, darling!
We’re apart, that’s true,
But I can dream and in my dreams
I’m Christmas-ing with you.

Holidays are joyful,
There’s always something new;
But every day’s a holiday
When I’m near to you.
The lights on my tree
I wish you could see,
I wish it every day.
Logs on the fire
Fill me with desire
To see you and to say

That I wish you Merry Christmas,
Happy New Year too!
I’ve just one wish
On this Christmas Eve:
I wish I were with you!

 Merry Christmas, darling!

My dear one, 

Sometimes I feel like standing under some mistletoe and just waiting to see who notices. I long for the day when you and I share that first mistletoe kiss.

This Christmas Eve I am with my family. I miss the wintery regions where I grew up, where we could watch the snow falling and tromp around in snow boots to bring Christmas carols to our church's shut-ins. Instead, one of my brothers and I played our instruments for the residents of the assisted living facility where he and my mom work. 

We never had "real" Christmas traditions as a family. No family gift exchanges, no tree adorned with sentimental ornaments. Just a nice family dinner, with some Christmas music playing on the stereo system. Perhaps the lack of traditions is what has prompted me to be so enthusiastic about decorating my own apartment, sending Christmas cards, and similar activities characteristic of the Christmas season. But ironically, I have to leave that all behind and travel to the hot climate where the only trees decorated in the neighborhood are a few scraggly palm trees. It's either that or spend the holiday alone in another state, so I'll take family over solitude! My heart is still restless though, because something is missing. You are missing! Won't it be wonderful to establish our own special Christmas traditions?

Merry Christmas, darling. Look for me under the mistletoe...

The Wish That I Wish Tonight

My dear one,
Last night I watched a delightful old comedy from 1945 ("Christmas in Connecticut"). Here's a clip to give you a taste...

It would have been perfect if I was watching it snuggled up next to you. But then again, maybe you have no use for cheesy little films such as this. Oh well, one can dream...

I'm wishing that I may,

I'm wishing that I might

Have the wish that I wish tonight.

I've told my lucky star

The wish that I made,

And every time so far,

She's come to my aid.

It may not be today,

It may not be tonight,

But I'm sure it will be alright.

And maybe by tomorrow,

If I wish with all my might,

I might have the wish I wish tonight.

(by M. K. Jerome and Jack Scholl, 

as sung in "Christmas in Connecticut")

When we cannot see our way

When we cannot see our way,

Let us trust and still obey;

He who bids us forward go,

Cannot fail the way to show.

Though the sea be deep and wide,

Though a passage seem denied,

Fearless, let us still proceed,

Since the Lord vouchsafes to lead.

Though it be the gloom of night,

Though we see no ray of light,

Since the Lord Himself is there,

'Tis not meet that we should fear.

Night with Him is never night,

Where He is, there all is light;

When He calls us, why delay?

They are happy who obey.

Be it ours, then, while we're here,

Him to follow without fear;

Where He calls us, there to go;

What He bids us, that to do.

Thomas Kelly (1818)

[Listen to a beautiful setting here.]