Grow where we are planted

 But flowers need night’s cool darkness,

The moonlight and the dew;

So Christ, from one who loved it,

His shining oft withdrew;

And then for cause of absence,

My troubled soul I scann’d—

But glory, shadeless, shineth

In Immanuel’s land.

THE SANDS OF TIME ARE SINKING

ANNE R. COUSIN

(1824-1906)

TUNE: Rutherford
7.6.7.6.D

Grow Where We're Planted GTJP- 14 · Elisabeth Elliot