[Rough Draft]

A weblog about god, doubt, insomnia, culture, baseball


Thy mighty grasp

‘Twixt gleams of joy and clouds of doubt
Our feelings come and go;
Our best estate is tossed about
In ceaseless ebb and flow.
No mood of feeling; form of thought
Is constant for a day;
But thou, O Lord, thou changest not:
The same thou art always.

I grasp thy strength, make it mine own,
My heart with peace is blest;
I lose my hold, and then comes down
Darkness, and cold unrest.
Let me no more my comfort draw
From my frail hold of thee,
In this alone rejoice with awe –
Thy mighty grasp of me.

John Campbell Shairp, 1819-1885.

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