IF bitter sorrows pierce
My spirit through and through;
If sore in pain I lie,
With death itself in view;
When none can soothe my heart but Thee,
Help me, O Lord, content to be.
If Thou in wisdom’s ways,
Shouldst bid me to resign
My wealth, my lands, my home,
Yea, all I’ve said is mine;
Though naught remain, O Lord, but Thee,
May I with Thee contented be.
Oh, may I murmur not,
Nor o’er my lot repine;
In this may I rejoice—
Thou art forever mine.
Should earthly joys all from me flee,
Thou wilt, O Lord, the sweeter be.
Thy loving, tender heart
My every sorrow bears;
The shoulders of Thy love
Receive my daily cares;
Naught dost Thou leave, O Lord, to me,
But with Thyself content to be.
Thou Shepherd, good and great,
Whose grace has made me Thine,
I glory in Thy love
Through which I call Thee mine:
If such Thou art on earth to me,
What will it be Thy face to see!