Hymns for the Heart

When the hour grows long and the answer slow,
When the heart would rush where it cannot go,
Good Father, hold us in the waiting hour,
In the field of seed before the flower.

For the farmer trusts the patient ground,
And the seed grows quiet without a sound,
The morning comes when the night is done —
Keep us watching, Lord, for the rising sun.

Teach our restless hands to fold,
Teach our restless feet to be still,
Teach our restless hearts to wait
Upon thy slow and certain will.

When the answer comes it will be enough,
And the waiting now is the work of love.
Good Father, hold us in the patient hour,
Till the seed becomes the flower.

When the work is more than the hand can hold,
When the day is longer than the heart is bold,
Thou who walked the dust of this our road,
Lift again the corner of our load.

The weary find their strength renewed in thee,
The trembling foot is steadied on the way,
We rise as eagles upon thy promise rise,
And run, and walk, and do not faint today.

Not by our own might,
Not by our own breath,
But by the One who keeps us
Through every storm and death.

Lord, our strength is small but thine is whole,
Make our weakness the place where thy mercy grows.
Walk before us now, and walk behind,
And we shall finish what thou hast assigned.

Like the mother to her crying child,
Like the shepherd seeking through the wild,
Like the friend who walks the long mile near,
So the Lord comes when we ask him here.

He knows the shape of our quiet tears,
The weight of all our unspoken fears,
He gathers us as one would gather sheep,
Into the fold where his heart is keep.

Do not be afraid of the empty room,
Do not be afraid of the early gloom,
He is nearer than the breath you draw,
He is closer than the love you saw.

When the Lord comes near the wounded place,
He brings the balm of his living grace.
Rest in his coming, brother, sister, friend —
Rest in the love that does not end.

Light is breaking on the hill,
Dawn is rising clear and still,
What the long night could not steal,
Morning brings to make us whole.

We were weeping in the dark,
We were silent in the cold,
Now the singing birds remark,
Mercies new and yet untold.

Joy is coming, joy is here,
Joy that does not turn to fear,
Lifted on the eastern air,
Rising clearer everywhere.

Thou hast turned our night to day,
Thou hast turned our grief to gain,
We shall dance the rest of the way
Home to thee, and not in vain.

By streams of tears my soul lies down,
Beside the waters of my own,
My Lord, my Lord, where art thou now?
Wilt thou not come and find me low?

The heart is heavy in the chest,
The questions hover, none addressed,
And yet, and yet, I will not flee
From thee, the One who hears in me.

Gather these tears into thy book,
Not one falls out beneath thy look,
The rivers of my grief shall pour
Into the sea of thy great shore.

Oh holy sadness, sit awhile,
The Lord is patient with the trial,
And by the dawn the streams shall sing
The coming of our healing King.

Through the valley wide and steep,
Through the country dark and deep,
Where the shadow falls along the way,
Thou wilt walk with me today.

I shall fear no evil here,
For my Shepherd's voice is near,
With his rod and with his staff,
He shall guide my faltering path.

Though the night be without end,
He is mountain, he is friend,
At my right, at my left, my front, my rear,
He is keeper of this fear.

At the table set in sight
Of my troubles standing nigh,
He shall feed me with his peace,
He shall give my soul release.

Though the shadow long persist,
The shadow is not the valley's end —
It is the place where, beyond all mist,
The morning of his love I shall ascend.

We come boldly to the throne,
Not because we stand on our own,
But because the Son has gone before
And opened wide that golden door.

Lord, the need is real and large,
Lord, the burden is past charge,
Lord, the morning brought a weight
That the evening cannot wait.

Mercy meets us where we cry,
Grace is given without why,
Thou dost not turn the suppliant away —
Thou dost answer, soon or late.

We shall not perish at the door,
We shall enter, more and more,
For the One who calls us friends
Helps us till the helping ends.

Every morning that the sun returns,
Every evening that the candle burns,
Every breath that fills these waiting lungs —
Of thee, my Father, all of it is sung.

For the bread upon our table set,
For the loved ones we have not forgot,
For the mercies that we did not earn,
For the gifts to which we shall return —

All my days I will praise,
Every hour I will raise
The voice thou gavest me to give
Back to thee, in whom we live.

I have nothing else to bring,
Only thanks, and so I sing,
For the King who loved me first
Has at last become my thirst.

There is a hope that does not fade,
A harbour ready, anchor laid,
A city promised, set on high,
A country waiting past the sky.

The one who promised cannot lie,
The one who started shall not stop,
Who began the work begins to bring
The ending we have hoped to top.

Lift your eyes, oh weary soul,
The morning star is on the air,
The Father makes the broken whole,
The Son returns for us up there.

We shall see him as he is,
We shall walk the streets of gold,
We shall sing the songs of his —
Not one heart shall be left out cold.

Peace, not as the world might give,
Peace, not for an hour to live,
Peace, that holds the storm at bay,
Peace the Lord himself doth lay.

Let not your heart be troubled, child,
The One who walked upon the wild,
Who bid the wind and waters cease,
Leaves with you his perfect peace.

In the night when sleep is far,
When the heart is held ajar,
He shall come and shut the door,
He shall come and shut once more.

Peace I give, and peace I keep,
In the waking, in the sleep,
Father, Son, and Holy Spirit,
Hold us till the morning near it.

Amen.