No mood of feeling, form of thought,
Is constant for a day;
But thou, O Lord, thou changest not,
The same thou art alway.

I grasp thy strength, make it mine own.
My heart with peace is blest;
I lose my hold, and then come down
Darkness and cold unrest.

Out of that weak, unquiet drift,
That comes but to depart,
To that pure heaven my spirit lift
Where thou unchanging art.

Let me no more my comfort draw
From my frail hold of thee;
In this alone rejoice with awe,—
Thy mighty grasp of me!