"My times are in thy hand"; I'll always trust in thee; And, after death, at thy right hand I shall forever be.
Away, my needless fears, And doubts no longer mine; A ray of heavenly light appears, A messenger divine.
Thrice comfortable hope, That calms my troubled breast; My Father's hand prepares the cup And what he wills is best.
If what I wish is good, And suits the will divine, By earth and hell in vain withstood, I know it shall be mine.
Still let them counsel take To frustrate his decree; They cannot keep a blessing back, By heaven designed for me.
Here, then, I doubt no more; But in his pleasure rest Whose wisdom, love, and truth, and power, Engage to make me blest.
Leave God to order all thy ways, And hope in him, whate'er betide, Thou'lt find in him, in evil days, Thy all-sufficient strength and guide. Who trusts in God's unchanging love Builds on the rock that naught can move.
What can these anxious cares avail, The never-ceasing moans and sighs? What can it help us to bewail Each painful moment as it flies? Our cross and trials do but press The heavier for our bitterness.
Only thy restless heart keep still, And wait in cheerful hope, content To take whate'er his gracious will, His all-discerning love, hath sent. Nor doubt our inmost wants are known To him who chose us for his own.
He knows when joyful hours are best; He sends them as he sees it meet; When thou hast borne the fiery test, And now art freed from all deceit, He comes to thee all unaware And makes thee own his loving care.
Nor in the heat of pain and strife Think God has cast thee off unheard, And that the man whose prosperous life Thou enviest is of him preferred. Time passes, and much change doth bring And sets a bound to everything.
All are alike before his face; 'Tis easy to our God most high To make the rich man poor and base, To give the poor man wealth and joy; True wonders still by him are wrought Who setteth up and brings to naught.
Sing, pray, and swerve not from his ways, But do thine own part faithfully; Trust his rich promises of grace, So shall they be fulfilled in thee. God never yet forsook at need The soul that trusted him indeed.
Bear up, bear on, the end shall tell The dear Lord ordereth all things well.