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.