“Father, Thy will be done!
I ask Thee not to take away
The bitter cup,
But meekly bow my head, and say
Hold Thou me up,
Oh, Thou most Holy One.
Father, Thy will be done!
Though hard and sore the trial be,
I will be calm,
And seek no comfort, save in Thee.
Thou hast the balm,
Oh, Thou most Holy One.
Father, Thy will be done;
I cannot murmur at the blow
Struck from above,
Because my sorrowing heart doth know
‘Twas sent in love,
Oh: Thou most tender One.
Father; Thy will be done!
Though earthly props and comforts fail,
Be Thou my stay;
Keep me within the riven veil
From day to day.
O, Thou most gracious One.
Father, Thy will be done!
May this be ever on my tongue
Till Jesus come;
When I shall sing the Lamb’s new song
In that bright home,
Where tears and trials are unknown.
C. A. W.