For every branch that's high and green, A root dives downward dark, unseen. To stand when furious winds have blown, A tree must cling to soil and stone. So Christians who would upward grow are anchored deep by secret woe, Are anchored deep by secret woe, are anchored deep by secret woe. Where towering ships oer oceans blow, Their heavy ballasts lurk below. Though lofty masts draw sailors eyes, The sunken burdens save their lives. So we who race through waves and reefs, Are kept upright by hidden griefs, are kept upright by hidden griefs. The soul that stretches wide and tall, Must root itself to Christ or fall. So, God, of pride and peril warns Then tethers saints to Him with thorns. Thus, friendly thorns are gifts of grace And uneased pains, His strong embrace.