Faith is the Christian's prop, Whereon his sorrows lean; It is the substance of his hope, His proof of things unseen; It is the anchor of his soul When tempests rage and billows roll. Faith is the polar star That guides the Christian's way, Directs his wand'rings from afar To realms of endless day; It points the course where'er he roam, And safely leads the pilgrim home. Faith is the rainbow's form Hung on the brow of heav'n, The glory of the passing storm, The pledge of mercy giv'n; It is the bright, triumphal arch, Through which the saints to glory march. The faith that works by love, And purifies the heart, A foretaste of the joys above To mortals can impart; It bears us Through this earthly strife, And triumphs in immortal life.