Hymn For A Sick Girl

    Father, in the dark I lay,
        Thirsting for the light,
    Helpless, but for hope alway
        In thy father-might.

    Out of darkness came the morn,
        Out of death came life,
    I, and faith, and hope, new-born,
        Out of moaning strife!

    So, one morning yet more fair,
        I shall, joyous-brave,
    Sudden breathing loftier air,
        Triumph o'er the grave.

    Though this feeble body lie
        Underneath the ground,
    Wide awake, not sleeping, I
        Shall in him be found.

    But a morn yet fairer must
        Quell this inner gloom--
    Resurrection from the dust
        Of a deeper tomb!

    Father, wake thy little child;
        Give me bread and wine
    Till my spirit undefiled
        Rise and live in thine.