The Lower Lights
Phillip P. Bliss
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
Dark the night of sin has settled
Loud the angry billows roar
Eager eyes are watching, longing
For the lights along the shore
Trim your feeble lamp, my brother
Some poor sailor tempest tossed
Trying now to make the harbour
In the darkness may be lost