A Poem of Praise

Sometimes a light surprises

The Christian while he sings;

It is the Lord who rises

With healing in his wings:

When comforts are declining,

He grants the soul again

A season of clear shining,

To cheer it after rain.

In holy contemplation,

We sweetly then pursue

The theme of God's salvation,

And find it ever new:

Set free from present sorrow,

We cheerfully can say,

E'en let th' unknown to-morrow

Bring with it what it may.

It can bring with it nothing

But he will bear us through;

Who gives the lilies clothing,

Will clothe his people too:

Beneath the spreading heavens,

No creature but is fed;

And he who feeds the ravens,

Will give his children bread.

Though vine nor fig-tree neither

Their wonted fruit shall bear,

Though all the field should wither,

Nor flocks nor herds be there:

Yet God the same abiding,

His praise shall tune my voice;

For while in him confiding,

I cannot but rejoice.

Written by John Newton