To God thy way commending,

Trust Him Whose Arm of might,

The heavenly circles bending,

Guides every star aright:

The winds, and clouds, and lightning

By His sure Hand are led;

And He will, dark shades brightening,

Shew thee what path to tread.

Trust God, His time awaiting,

If thou wilt have success;

Work, His Work contemplating,

That He thy work may bless:

Whate’er is worth thy getting

By prayer thou shalt obtain,

And not by anxious fretting,

Or self-inflicted pain.

Thy love, O Father, gloweth

With zeal for mortals’ good,

And what is hurtful knoweth

To human flesh and blood:

Our future Thou foreseèst,

And, through Thy strong Right Hand,

The counsel Thou decreèst

Shall ever firmly stand.

Resources rich possessing,

That love still finds a way,

Thy every act a blessing,

Thy pathway cloudless day;

In one unbroken tissue,

Which no let e’er withstood,

It brings to happy issue

Plans for Thy children’s good.

Although to make God falter

The powers of hell combine,

One jot they cannot alter

Of His all-wise design:

All projects and volition

Of His eternal Mind,

Despite all opposition,

Their due fulfilment find.

No more then droop and languish,

Thou sorrow-stricken soul;

E’en from the depths of anguish,

Whose billows o’er thee roll,

Thy Father’s Hand shall draw thee:

In hope and patience stay,

And joy will soon shed o’er thee

An ever brightening ray.

All faithless murmurs leaving,

Bid them a last good-night,

No more thy vexed soul grieving,

Because things seem not right:

Wisely His Sceptre wielding,

God sits in regal state,

No power to mortals yielding,

Events to regulate.

Trust with a faith untiring

In thine Omniscient King,

And thou shalt see admiring

What He to light will bring:

Of all thy griefs the reason

Shall at the last appear;

Why now denied a season,

Will shine in letters clear.

Awhile, perchance to try thee,

He seems to hear thee not,

All comfort to deny thee,

As if thou wert forgot;

As though He disregarded

Thy bitter cry and moan,

His care for thee discarded,

And left thee quite alone.

But if all ills thou brookest,

With constant faith and love,

When least for help thou lookest,

Thy cross He will remove:

At last, compassion taking

On thine estate forlorn,

Will ease the woe heart-breaking

Which thou hast meekly borne.

Then raise thine eyes to heaven,

Thou who canst trust His frown;

Thence shall thy meed be given,

The chaplet and the crown:

Then God the palm victorious

In thy right hand shall plant,

Whilst thou, in accents glorious,

Melodious hymns shalt chant.

* * *

End, if Thou wilt, our sorrow,

And our probation close;

Till then, we fain would borrow

Strength to support life’s woes:

To Thee our way commending,

Whose Wisdom orders best,

We tread the pathway tending

To heaven’s eternal rest.