God's Foot On The Cradle

The air is chill with the frost of doubt,     And men's hearts are sadly failing;     They do not hear the great Victor's shout;     But indulge in bitter wailing.     "The old gives place to the new," they say,     "And fond hopes are daily buried;     Our cherished views are oft borne away,     As if by the tempest hurried.     "The world is stirred to its very heart,     And the Church shares the commotion;     With systems old, we are loathe to part,     To sail on an unknown ocean.     The world now heaves like the great sea's breast,     And rocks like an infant's cradle;     And looking up, by sore grief oppressed,     We find the sky draped in sable."     I will not fear, though the earth should rock,     If God's foot be on the cradle;     But rest in peace midst the tempest's shock,     Rejoicing that God is able     To still the world with His mighty hand,     If His timid child should waken;     Or, if it rock, He will by me stand;     And my heart shall not be shaken.