Sometimes the wind of trials blowing Sweeps dust from years long passed away, When God proved faithful in bestowing His mercies every single day.
We all are prone to swift forgetting: We file the past without a care, And with it—all the golden setting Of blessings woven everywhere.
But when the storm comes howling, raging, And we search desperately for ground, We turn to memories, engaging With what through God alone we found.
So many days of grief and trial, Yet Someone watched me from my youth, Behind each sign, each faithful trial, His signature reads: "I am your Truth, Your Lord and God."
