When the brook cease, and thirst grows by itself
And the Sun itself goes between shadows
Letting out dreary lights in sickly rows.
When faith falters, and fear grows by itself
Give the wind thy fears, for Help is nigh thee.Â
Time, talents, and gold, may their increase cease
The surest wind of aid may fold its wing
Merits of labour may more sorrow bring
But when hope fails and doubt grows in its place
Give the wind thy doubts, for Help is nigh thee.Â
When from the sunshine of love your heart roam
Cutting off all loving link we once shared
When pleasure becomes sharp thorns of hope dimmed
And relief grieves; when dust and ashes come
Give the wind thy troubles, Help is nigh thee.Â
Life in its sweetness may sit on thy lap.
Fulfillment may find its way to your heart.
In the great trophies your right hand has brought
But think not needless is this careful tap
Give the wind thy all, for He is nigh thee.Â
Source: Enigmatic Global Concept