Hymn For A Sick Girl

Father, in the dark I lay, Thirsting for the light, Helpless, but for hope alway In thy father-might. Out of darkness came the morn, Out of death came life, I, and faith, and hope, new-born, Out of moaning strife! So, one morning yet more fair, I shall, joyous-brave, Sudden breathing loftier air, Triumph o'er the grave. Though this feeble body lie Underneath the ground, Wide awake, not sleeping, I Shall in him be found. But a morn yet fairer must Quell this inner gloom- Resurrection from the dust Of a deeper tomb! Father, wake thy little child; Give me bread and wine Till my spirit undefiled Rise and live in thine.