2/2 THROUGH THE MIST.
I looked along the village street,
Seeking the steeple white Crowning the modest little kirk,
But that had vanished quite ; From trodden sill to turret top
No outline cut the air ; I could not see, but then I knew
The little church was there.
I could not see the gladsome sun, Shadowless stood the tree
Unbarred the path where streaks of light At morning used to be ;
The sky no hint or token gave Of sunshine anywhere ;
But tho I could not see the sun, I knew the sun was there.
And thus I came to think at last
How firm our trust should be In things we count immutable,
The while we may not see. If God has willed that round about
Shall rise the mists of care, Till faith seems but a melting spire,
I ll trust the church is there.
If cold unwelcome fogs arise To dim love s pleasant shine,
I ll wait and look beyond the mist Which this side gives no sign ;
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