From every stormy Wind that blows. 89 Hastings. L. M. 1. From ev'ry storm-y wind that blows, From ev-'ry swell-ing tide of woes, There is a calm, a sure re-treat; 'Tis found beneath the mer I I cannot plainly see the way, And yet what need is there to see, And trust the great God over me? 3 I take thy hand, and fears grow still; Behold thy face, and doubts remove; Who would not yield his wav'ring will To perfect truth and boundless love. I trust when once the goal is won, Good cause of thankfulness to find That I was blind. 8 For in that goal's diviner light, Anon. |