Poetry Archives

When storms arise
And dark’ning skies
  About me threat’ning lower,
To thee, O Lord, I raise mine eyes,
To thee my tortured spirit flies
  For solace in that hour.

The mighty arm
Will let no harm
  Come near me nor befall me;
Thy voice shall quiet my alarm,
When life’s great battle waxeth warm—
  No foeman shall appall me.

Upon thy breast
Secure I rest,
  From sorrow and vexation;
No more by sinful cares oppressed,
But in thy presence ever blest,
  O God of my salvation.