Footprints in the Sand Prayer, Meaning and 17 Christian Poems

Father, in Thy mysterious presence kneeling,
Fain would our souls feel all Thy kindling love;
For we are weak, and need some deep revealing
Of Trust and Strength and Calmness from above.

Lord, we have wandered forth through doubt and sorrow,
And Thou hast made each step an onward one;
And we will ever trust each unknown morrow,–
Thou wilt sustain us till its work is done.

In the heart’s depths a peace serene and holy
Abides, and when pain seems to have her will,
Or we despair,–O, may that peace rise slowly,
Stronger than agony, and we be still!

Now, Father, now, in Thy dear presence kneeling,
Our spirits yearn to feel Thy kindling love;
Now make us strong, we need Thy deep revealing
Of Trust and Strength and Calmness from above.

God of our fathers! by whose hand
Thy people still are blest,
Be with us through our pilgrimage,
Conduct us to our rest.

Through each perplexing path of life
Our wandering footsteps guide;
Give us each day our daily bread,
And raiment fit provide.

O, spread Thy sheltering wings around,
Till all our wanderings cease,
And at our Fathers loved abode
Our souls arrive in peace.

To Thee, our Father and our God,
We our whole souls resign;
And thankful own, that all we are
And all we have is Thine.

Lord, in whose might the Saviour trod
The dark and stormy wave,
And trusted in his Father’s arm,
Omnipotent to save;

When darkly round our footsteps rise
The floods and storms of life,
Send Thou Thy Spirit down to still
The dark and fearful strife.

Strong in our trust, on Thee reposed,
The ocean-path we’ll dare,
Though waves around us rage and foam,
Since Thou art present there.

Come unto me, when shadows darkly gather,
When the sad heart is weary and distrest,
Seeking for comfort from your Heavenly Father,
Come unto me, and I will give you rest!

Ye who have mourned when the spring-flowers were taken,
When the ripe fruit fell richly to the ground,
When the loved slept, in brighter homes to waken,
Where their pale brows with spirit-wreaths are crowned;

Large are the mansions in thy Father’s dwelling,
Glad are the homes that sorrows never dim;
Sweet are the harps in holy music swelling,
Soft are the tones which raise the heavenly hymn;

There, like an Eden blossoming in gladness,
Bloom the fair flowers the earth too rudely pressed;
Come unto me, all ye who droop in sadness,
Come unto me, and I will give you rest.