Lead Gently, Lord, And Slow, For Oh, My Steps Are Weak, And Ever As I Go, Some Soothing Sentence Speak; That I May Turn My Face Through Doubt'S Obscurity Toward Thine Abiding-Place, E'En Tho' I Cannot See. For Lo, The Way Is Dark; Through Mist And Cloud I Grope, Save For That Fitful Spark, The Little Flame Of Hope. Lead Gently, Lord, And Slow, For Fear That I May Fall; I Know Not Where To Go Unless I Hear Thy Call. My Fainting Soul Doth Yearn For Thy Green Hills Afar; So Let Thy Mercy Burn-- My Greater, Guiding Star!