Lord, teach me how to trust in Thee,
And how, less unbelieving be;
To place on Thine unerring care
Those most I love, and leave them there.
For faith is not a mere belief,
That Thou canst aid in bitter grief;
O! ‘tis far greater blessings, Lord,
Are promised in Thy gracious Word.
‘Tis grasping Thee, when all are gone,
‘Tis viewing Thee, when quite alone;
‘Tis pillowing on Thine unseen arm,
Supported there, and free from harm.
‘Tis calm assurance, all is well.
Though how, or where, I cannot tell;
‘Tis heark’ning when no voice I hear,
‘Tis smiling, though I weep and fear.
‘Tis living in Thy blessed sight,
Where ‘er I breathe by day or night;
‘Tis drinking in Thy tender love,
From all below, and all above.
‘Tis putting on the garment white,
Preparing for the blessed sight
Of that rejoicing, glorious feast,
Which saints shall share, from great to least.
‘Tis stepping light, though burdened sore,
‘Tis hating sin, yet more and more;
‘Tis fighting hard, and yet at rest,
‘Tis broken-hearted, and yet blest.
‘Tis loving with unuttered love,
Though hard the heart, and slow to move;
‘Tis laboring, though ‘tis all so small,
I count it laboring not at all.
‘Tis telling Thee my every thought,
‘Tis finding all I’ve every sought;
‘Tis treading on through life’s lone walk,
In sweet companionship and talk.
‘Tis joining in the Savior’s praise,
‘Tis fixing high my eager gaze,
Where all is boundless love and peace,
And freedom marks the soul’s release.
‘Tis hurrying to a glorious end,
‘Tis pressing towards my bosom Friend;
‘Tis meeting Him, come, Jesus, come,
‘Tis folding tent, and reaching home.