While stormy clouds come billowing
With anxious eyes I watch the sky
And think I cannot outwit this
Approaching tempest, and I cry—
for help! because my shelter is
A flimsy structure, built on sand
And if I hide in it, the rains
Will not let this poor shelter stand.
And then it comes, the waters drench
My skin, and I can’t take a breath
From all pressure coming down
Upon me—Oh, it feels like death.
This weary rain, these fearful winds,
That shake the soul and chill the skin.
This storm! Will I come through alive?
These winds! This rain! Will I survive?
And I cannot stand long enough
Until this downpour passes on.
So I collapse beside a rock,
The one firm thing to lean upon.
And it occurs to me that I
Had never thought it best to hide
Within the clefts of this large cave,
Where I’d be sheltered, dry, and safe.
Though strength is weak, I climb this mount
And soon escape the deathly fount
And safe at last, I wait until
The storm clouds clear, and all is well.
So may I never trust again
In shelters built on shifting sand,
But, Rock of Ages, cleft for me,
Oh, may I hide myself in Thee.