We jour­ney through a vale of tears,
By many a cloud o’er­cast;
And world­ly cares and world­ly fears,
Go with us to the last.

Not to the last! Thy Word hath said,
Could we but read aright,
Poor pil­grim, lift in hope thy head,
At eve there shall be light!

Though earth­born sha­dows now may shroud
Thy thor­ny path awhile,
God’s bless­èd Word can part each cloud,
And bid the sun­shine smile.

Only be­lieve, in liv­ing faith,
His love and pow­er di­vine;
And ere thy sun shall set in death,
His light shall round thee shine.

When tem­pest clouds are dark on high,
His bow of love and peace
Shines sweet­ly in the vault­ed sky,
Betokening storms shall cease.

Hold on thy way, with hope un­chilled,
By faith and not by sight,
And thou shalt own His Word ful­filled,
At eve it shall be light.