Who yields his will to God’s good pleasure,
And hopes in Him, whate’er betide;
To him is grace in ample measure,
Through every time of need supplied.
Secure shall his foundation stand;
He hath not built upon the sand.
What gain we when we faint and languish?
What gain we by our dismal sighs?
What gain we if we tell our anguish
Abroad beneath the morning skies?
More heavy grows the cross we bear
For all this weary load of care.
To God thy whole desire confiding,
O! rest thee in His sovereign will;
His grace is for thy good providing,
Though sorrow’s draft thy cup may fill.
He Who thy captive soul hath freed,
Hath pondered well thy present need.
He knows the fitting time of gladness;
His love appoints both tear and smile;
Be true to Him through days of sadness;
Maintain a spirit free from guile.
So will He come, ere we suppose,
And joy shall follow all our woes.
Think not, when furnace fires are round thee,
That God hath left thee to their rage.
Say not, “Did wealth or power surround me,
His praises should my lips engage.”
The rolling years are fraught with change;
Each sorrow hath its narrowed range.
Give thanks, and pray, while onward pressing
In wisdom’s path, with purpose true;
And God shall send thee showers of blessing;
Rich mercies every morning new.
The feeblest saint who trusts the Lord,
Hath present help and sure reward.