When I can trust my all with God,
I trial’s fearful hour,
Bow, all resigned beneath His rod,
And bless His sparing pow’r,
A joy springs up amid distress,
A fountain in the wilderness.
O, to be brought to Jesus’ feet,
Tho’ trials fix me there,
Is still a privilege most sweet,
For He will hear my pray’r;
Tho’ sighs and tears its language be,
The Lord is nigh to answer me.
O, blessed be the hand that gave,-
Still blessed when it takes;
Blessed be He who smites to save,
Who heals the heart He breaks:
Perfect and true are all His ways,
Whom heav’n adores and death obeys.