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