Holy Hope-Hymn

Thou, Father of love’s fount sustains

What long should have run dry

We dredge its deep yet nothing drains

Love’s exhaustless supply

Thou, Shepherd of a foolish flock

Whose talk betrays heart’s sum

Thy fold should boast a stone-cold lock

But still You beckon, “come”

Thou, Bread of life, where dread and strife

Would choke the starving soul

Save for thy grace that paid sin’s price

And aids Hope to its goal

Thou, Giver to a race unfit

That takes and takes until

Your outstretched Hand should clench its fist

But still you fill and fill

Thou, Light to darkest doom unfurled

Thou, Ark of Safety sure

Thou, Overcomer of the world

Through Thee we will endure

© Janet Martin