There are too few who seem to know That it’s to Christ that we must go; And it’s to Him that we must run When fails the light of noon-day sun. When fear creeps and terror crawls Slipping through our eggshell walls, We find our hope has been mislaid When on aught but Christ our minds are stayed. Promises all are empty when Christ is not the Lord of them. Trust not the might of other men Though others look and lean on them. When heavy is your heart and soul Turn to the One Who makes you whole. Confide in Him your weakness then Let Him wash you clean again. Let words of Christ then lift you up And let His love fill up the cup Of that for which His children long: His countenance which makes us strong. It is not by power, nor by might, That makes us stand or makes us right; Tis only blood shed of the King Who left heaven with love to bring To us new hope and to us grace, That He might bring us to that place, Of holy light and holy rest, Where dwells the King of righteousness.
Copyright © Thom Mollohan
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