Where, in spite of all you can do,
There is no way out, there is no way back,
There is no other way but through?
Then wait on the Lord, with a trust serene,
Till the night of your fear is gone;
He will send the winds, He will heap the floods,
When He says to your soul, “Go.”
And His Hand shall lead you through, clear through,
Ere the watery walls roll down;
No wave can touch you, no foe can smite,
No mightiest sea can drown.
The tossing billows may rear their crests,
Their foam at your feet may break,
But over their bed you shall walk dry-shod
In the path that your Lord shall make.
In the morning watch, ‘neath the lifted cloud,
You shall see but the Lord alone,
When He leads you forth from the place of the sea,
And your fears shall pass as your foes have passed,
You shall no more be afraid;
You shall sing His praise in a better place,
In a place that His Hand hath made. —Annie Johnson Flint