How much of joy and com­fort,
How much of real cheer,
The dear Lord in His kind­ness,
Gives to His child­ren here.
So gent­ly doth He lead us,
So hap­pi­ly we move,
That ev­ery day our path­way
Glows with His ten­der love.

Each hour He draw­eth near­er,
And when we need to rest,
He folds His arms about us—
He lays us on His breast;
He gives us liv­ing waters,
With heav’n­ly man­na feeds,
And His ex­haust­less boun­ty
Supplies our ma­ny needs.

Sometimes a pass­ing sha­dow
Will flit across the mind,
And dim our hope of Heav­en,
Our pleas­ing pros­pects blind;
But then His hand He giv­eth,
To lead us safe along,
And in a mo­ment chang­eth
The mourn­ing sigh to song.

And when our loved ones leave us,
To come to us no more,
He draws aside the cur­tain,
And shows the gold­en shore;
We hear the praise ex­ult­ant—
The harp-strings sweet­ly ring,
As ran­somed friends in glo­ry
Bow to the loving King.