I know not—the way is so mis­ty—
The joys or the griefs it shall bring,
What clouds are o’er­hang­ing the future,
What flow’rs by the road­side shall spring;
But there’s One who will jour­ney beside me,
Nor in weal nor in woe will for­sake;
And this is my so­lace and com­fort—
He know­eth the way that I take.

I stand where the two ways are meet­ing,
And know not the right from the wrong;
No beck­on­ing fin­gers di­rect me,
No wel­come floats to me in song;
But my guide will soon give me a to­ken,
By wil­der­ness, mount­ain or lake;
Whatever the dark­ness about me,
He know­eth the way that I take.

And I know that the way lead­eth home­ward
To the land of the pure and the blest,
To the coun­try of ev­er fair sum­mer,
To the ci­ty of peace and of rest;
And there shall be heal­ing for sick­ness,
And fount­ains, life’s fe­ver to slake;
What mat­ters be­side? I go heav’n­ward,
He know­eth the way that I take.