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Christ My Refuge

O'er waiting harpstrings of the mind

 There sweeps a strain,

Low, sad, and sweet, whose measures bind

 The power of pain.

And wake a white-winged angel throng

 Of thoughts, illumed

By faith, and breathed in raptured song,

 With love perfumed.

Then his unveiled, sweet mercies show

 Life's burdens light.

I kiss the cross, and wake to know

 A world more bright.

And o'er earth's troubled, angry sea

 I see Christ walk,

And come to me, and tenderly,

 Divinely talk.

Thus Truth engrounds me on the rock,

 Upon Life's shore;

'Gainst which the winds and waves can shock,

 Oh, nevermore!

From tired joy and grief afar,

 And nearer Thee, —

Father, where Thine own children are,

 I love to be.