Written by a missionary in Communist China in the early 1950’s, with only 15 cents left in his pocket, a terrible toothache, no fuel and a tiny daughter with scarlet fever.  The beginning reference is to Acts 27:27-32.

In Adria’s tempest-tossed wastes,
My barque through the dark deeps is driv’n;
The canvas all torn from my masts,
My timbers by stormy waves riv’n.
Yet there faith’s assurance rings clear,
E’en there will I trust, EVEN THERE.

All hope for deliverance had gone,
Despair’s chilly gloom shrouded all;
No sun’s ray through threat’ning cloud shone
To brighten the future’s dark pall.
Yet there should my heart quake with fear,
E’en there will I trust, EVEN THERE.

My brook’s daily waters had dried,
All replenishing springs scorched bare;
Resourceless in sore need I cried
To a God who seemed not to care.
Though trembling, triumphant I bow
E’en now will I trust, EVEN NOW.

The barrel of meal empties fast,
The tempter crowds close with his lies;
“Can God?” Ah! He’s failed you at last,
“In wilderness find fresh supplies.”
Perish doubts!  Though I know not how,
E’en now will I trust, EVEN NOW.

~Arthur Mathews