My heart is resting, Ο my God!
I will give thanks and sing;
My heart has found the secret source
Of every precious thing.
Yes! the frail vessel thou hast made
No hand but thine can fill-
For the waters of the earth have failed,
And I am thirsty still.
I thirst for springs of heavenly life,
And from thyself they rise;
I seek the treasure of thy love,
And close at hand it lies.
Thus a new song is in my mouth,
To long loved music set:
Glory to thee for all the grace
I have but tasted yet.
Glory to thee for strength withheld,
For want and weakness known—
For fear that sends me to thy breast
For what is most my own.
I have a heritage of joy
That yet I cannot see;
But He who bled to make it mine
Is keeping it for me.
There is a certainty of love
That sets my heart at rest;
A calm assurance for to-day,
That to be weak is best;
My soul reposeth on thy truth,
Who hath made all things mine,
Who gently bends my froward will,
And makes it one with thine.
I will give thanks for suffering now,
For want, and toil, and loss;
For the death that sin makes hard and slow
Upon my Savior’s cross.
Sometimes I long for promised bliss,
But ‘twill not come too late—
And songs of patient faith may rise
From the place wherein I wait.
Mine be the reverent, listening love,
That waits all day on thee,
With the service of a watchful heart
Which no one else can see:
The faith that in a hidden way
No other eye may know,
Finds all its daily work prepared,
And loves to have it so.
My heart is resting, Ο my God!
My heart is in thy care,
And while it finds its joy in thee,
Can trust thee everywhere;
The heart that ministers for thee
In thy own work will rest;
And the subject spirit of a child
Can serve thy children best.