Where do i turn for peace,
Where is my solace?
When other sources seem to make me whole?
When with a wounded heart, anger or malice,
I draw myself apart, searching my soul.
Where when my aching grows,
Where when I languish?
Where in my need to know, where can I run?
Where is the quiet hand to calm my anguish?
Who, Who, can understand? He only He.
He answers privately, reaching my reaching,
In my Gethsemane, Savior and friend.
Gently the peace he finds for my beseeching,
Constant he is and kind, Love without end.
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