Father, in the dark I lay,
Thirsting for the light,
Helpless, but for hope alway
In thy father-might.

Out of darkness came the morn,
Out of death came life,
I, and faith, and hope, new-born,
Out of moaning strife!

So, one morning yet more fair,
I shall, joyous-brave,
Sudden breathing loftier air,
Triumph o'er the grave.

Though this feeble body lie
Underneath the ground,
Wide awake, not sleeping, I
Shall in him be found.

But a morn yet fairer must
Quell this inner gloom-
Resurrection from the dust
Of a deeper tomb!

Father, wake thy little child;
Give me bread and wine
Till my spirit undefiled
Rise and live in thine.

George MacDonald

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/hymn-for-a-sick-girl/