Philip P. Bliss, 1871.
1. 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 fainting, struggling seaman
You may rescue, you may save.
2. Dark the night of sin has settled,
loud the angry billows roar;
Eager eyes are watching, longing,
For the lights, along the shore.
3. Trim your feeble lamp, my brother,
Some poor sailor tempest tossed,
Trying now to make the harbor,
In the darkness may be lost.