When ga­ther­ing clouds around I view,
And days are dark, and friends are few,
On Him I lean, who, not in vain
Experienced ev­ery hu­man pain;
He sees my wants, al­lays my fears,
And counts and trea­sures all my tears.

If aught should tempt my soul to stray
From heav’n­ly wis­dom’s nar­row way,
To fly the good I would pur­sue,
Or do the sin I would not do—
Still He, who felt temp­ta­tion’s pow­er,
Shall guard me in that dan­ger­ous hour.

If wound­ed love my bo­som swell,
Deceived by those I prized too well—
He shall His pi­ty­ing aid bestow,
Who felt on earth se­ver­er woe,
At once be­trayed, de­nied, or fled,
By those who shared His dai­ly bread.

If vex­ing thoughts with­in me rise
And sore dis­mayed my spir­it dies,
Still He who once vouch­safed to bear
The sick­en­ing anguish of des­pair,
Shall sweet­ly soothe, shall gent­ly dry,
The throb­bing heart, the stream­ing eye.

When, sor­row­ing, o’er some stone I bend,
Which co­vers what was once a friend,
And from his voice, his hand, his smile,
Divides me—for a lit­tle while,
Thou, Sav­ior, mark’st the tears I shed,
For Thou didst weep o’er La­za­rus dead.

And O, when I have safe­ly passed,
Through ev­ery con­flict—but the last,
Still, still un­chang­ing, watch be­side
My pain­ful bed—for Thou hast died;
Then point to realms of cloud­less day,
And wipe the lat­est tear away.