“Commit thy way,” O weeper—
The cares that fret thy soul—
To thine almighty Keeper;
He makes the world to roll.
“Unto the Lord,” who guideth
The wind, and cloud, and sea;
Oh, doubt not He provideth
A footpath, too, for thee.
“Trust also,” for ‘tis useless
To murmur and forebode;
The almighty arm is doubtless
Full strong to bear thy load.
“In Him” hide all thy sorrow,
And bid thy fears “good night”:
He’ll make a glorious morrow
To crown thy head with light.
“And He shall bring it” near thee,
The good thou long hast sought;
Though now it seems to fly thee,
Thou shalt ere long be brought
“To pass” from grief to gladness—
From night to clearest day;
Then doubts, and fears, and sadness
Shall all have passed away.