Poems (Kimball)/"Thou are a Place to hide me in"

by Harriet McEwen Kimball

"THOU ART A PLACE TO HIDE ME IN."

WITHOUT I hear the beating of the rain,
 The howling winds that tell the storm's increase;
O covert sure that he who seeks may gain!—
    Within abideth peace!

Without I hear the sound of feet that halt,
 And grope and stumble in the blinding light;
O blessed faith that serveth in default
    Of what men call the light!

O rest, O wayside inn, where home is not
 For the poor pilgrim to that city fair
Where strife shall cease and doubtings be forgot!
    The Lamb, the Light is there!