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“But, oh, when gloomy doubts prevail, I fear to call thee mine; The springs of comfort seem to fail, And all my hopes decline. Yet, gracious God, where shall I flee? Thou art my only trust; And still my soul would cleave to thee, Though prostrate in the dust.” — Anne Steele

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But, oh, when gloomy doubts prevail, I fear to call thee mine; The springs of comfort seem to fail, And all my hopes decline. Yet, gracious God, where shall I flee? Thou art my only trust; And still my soul would cleave to thee, Though prostrate in the dust.
— Anne Steele