O sleep­less nights, O cheer­less days,
O sobs, that will not cease;
Be still, be still! kind are His ways,
Christ is the Prince of Peace:
’Tis well thy head, in throb­bing pain,
May pil­low on His breast;
Weep there thy tears like spring­time rain—
He gives the mourn­er rest.

Toil brave­ly on, ’twill not be long
Thy bark shall plow the main;
Steer well; thy guide shall be the song
That rings from Hea­ven’s plain;
And watch thou for the gleam­ing lights
That shine across the wave;
They’re plant­ed on fair Hea­ven’s heights,
The ma­rin­er to save.

Steer well! the har­bor just ahead
Aglow with glo­ry’s ray,
Will on thee gold­en lus­ter shed,
From out the gates of day,
And wait­ing there are long­ing hands
That thrill to clasp thine own,
And lead thee thro’ the heav’n­ly land
Into the bright un­known.

Oh, strive thou well to ov­er­come,
And clothe thy­self in white,
Wait pa­tient­ly thy wel­come home
To scenes of glo­ry bright:
The Lord loves those He chast­ens sore,
And binds the bleed­ing wound;
And gent­ly heals the heart He tore,
That grace may more abound!