How shall I know Thee, Master, when the night
Falls black about the way,
When earth is void, and heaven has no light,
And wild winds hunt their prey?
How shall I know 'tis Thee, or fiends of hell
In forms that image Thee?
They throng with mockeries, and can I tell
When Thou art come to me?
Yes, by the proof of peace! Oh, Saviour dear,
However sore dismayed,
When once Thy least low whispering I hear,
I shall not be afraid!