The voice of God’s cre­ation found me
Perplexed midst hope and fear,
For though His sun­shine flashed around me,
His storms at times drew near:
And I said—
Oh! that I knew where He abid­eth!
For doubts beset our lot,
And lo! His glo­ri­ous face He hid­eth,
And men per­ceive it not!

The voice of God’s pro­tect­ion told me
He lov­eth all He made;
I seemed to feel His arms en­fold me,
And yet was half afraid:
And I said—
Oh! that I knew where I might find Him!
His eye would guide me right:
He leav­eth count­less tracks behind Him,
Yet pass­eth out of sight.

The voice of con­science sound­ed near­er,
It stirred my in­most breast;
But though its tones were firm­er, clear­er,
’Twas not the voice of rest:
And I said—
Oh! that I knew if He for­giv­eth!
My soul is faint with­in,
Because in griev­ous fear it liv­eth
Of wag­es due to sin.

It was the voice of re­ve­la­tion
That met my ut­most need;
The won­drous mes­sage of sal­va­tion
Was joy and peace in­deed:
And I said—
Oh! how I love the sac­red pages
From which such tid­ings flow,
As mon­archs, pa­tri­archs, po­ets, sag­es,
Have longed in vain to know!

For now is life a lu­cid sto­ry,
And death a rest in Him,
And all is bathed in light and glo­ry
That once was dark or dim:
And I said—
O Thou who dost my soul de­liv­er,
And all its hopes up­lift;
Give me a tongue praise the Giv­er,
A heart to prize the gift.