When I can trust my all with God,

In trial’s fearful hour—

Bow all resigned beneath his rod,

And bless his sparing power;

A joy springs up amid distress,

A fountain in the wilderness.

2 O! to be brought to Jesus’ feet,

Though trials fix me there,

Is still a privilege most sweet;

For he will hear my prayer;

Though sighs and tears its language be,

The Lord is nigh to answer me.

3 Then, blesséd be the hand that gave,

Still blesséd when it takes;

Blesséd be he who smites to save,

Who heals the heart he breaks;

Perfect and true are all his ways,

Whom heaven adores and death obeys.