The summer clouds go sailing by,
Like silver ships across the sky,
Or, stretching out like furrowed plain,
Or white-capped billows on the main!
What matters how their course we view,
If now and then the blue peeps through?

Sometimes they rise like mountains bold,
Peak after peak all tinged with gold;
Sometimes they frown, sometimes are gray,
Sometimes bring darkness while it’s day;
What matters when we know it’s true,
The azure’ll soon come peeping through?

For well we know the sky is there.
Above the clouds all bright and fair;
The silver ship and furrowed plain,
And mountain peak and billowy main—
Will pass—but skies are firm and true,
The azure’ll soon come peeping through!

So, clouds must come into each life,
Some silver-tinged, some gray with strife,
But God’s rich mercy like the sky,
Broods over all as years go by,
And, many be the clouds or few,
God’s love is always peeping through!