As we lay sinking, we dream of You.
Far from the finish, we think of You.
Weep, lonely mother—
We strive without promise, and though He seems to you
So poor a Father,
He does His own work, and He beams at you.
Shrink, injured lover—
We must stick together, though they scheme toward you,
Ragged, and broken, by selfishness dragged.
His silent ear hears every cry leaving you.
Rage, thou unfaithful—
It must be to you
So hard to accept such incredible words,
But He in due time will show all things to you.
All uncertain, all unfair,
Somehow, all redeemed by You.