Brightly Beams Our Father’s Mercy,
From His Lighthouse Evermore,
But To Us He Gives The Keeping
Of The Lights Along The Shore.

Let The Lower Lights Be Burning!
Send A Gleam Across The Wave!
Some Poor Struggling, Fainting Seaman
You May Rescue, You May Save.

Dark The Night Of Sin Has Settled,
Loud The Angry Billows Roar;
Eager Eyes Are Watching, Longing,
For The Lights Along The Shore.

Trim Your Feeble Lamp, My Brother;
Some Poor Sailor, Tempest-Tossed,
Trying Now To Make The Harbor,
In The Darkness May Be Lost.

Your Image