P. P. Bliss

BRIGHTLY beams our Father’s mercy

From His lighthouse evermore;

But to us He gives the keeping

Of the lights along the shore.

Let the lower lights be burning!

Send a gleam across the wave!

Some poor fainting, struggling seaman

You may rescue, you may save.


Dark the night of sin has settled,

Loud the angry billows roar;

Eager eyes are watching, longing,

For the lights along the shore.


Trim your feeble lamp, my brother!

Some poor seaman, tempest-tossed,

Trying now to make the harbor,

In the darkness may be lost.


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