Away my need­less fears,
And doubts no long­er mine!
A ray of heav’n­ly light ap­pears,
A mes­sen­ger di­vine:
Thrice com­fort­able hope
That calms my stor­my breast;
My Fa­ther’s hand pre­pares the cup,
And what He wills is best.

He knows what­e’er I want,
He sees my help­less­ness,
And al­ways rea­di­er is to grant
Than I to ask His grace:
My fear­ful heart He reads,
Secures my soul from harms,
And un­der­neath His mer­cy spreads
Its ev­er­last­ing arms.

Here is firm foot­ing; here,
My soul, is sol­id rock,
To break the waves of grief and fear,
And trou­ble’s rud­est shock:
This on­ly can sus­tain
When earth and Heav’n re­move:
O turn thee to thy rest again,
Thy God’s eter­nal love.

To God again I turn,
And shel­ter in His breast,
His will (let me re­joice or mourn)
His will is sure­ly best:
His skill in­fal­li­ble,
His pro­vi­den­tial grace,
His pow­er, and truth, that ne­ver fail,
Shall or­der all my ways.

The ran­dom blows of chance,
The be­ing I de­fy,
Whose life’s mi­nut­est cir­cum­stance,
Is sub­ject to His eye:
He hears the ra­vens call;
Nor can His child­ren grieve,
Nor can a worth­less spar­row fall
Without my Fa­ther’s leave.

Why then was I cast down,
And trou­bled with­out cause,
And trem­bled at the crea­ture’s frown,
And feared the threat­ened loss?
Shall I mis­trust His care
My bless­ings to defend,
Or dread (who can­not lose a hair)
To lose a bo­som friend?

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 Heav’n de­signed for me.

If what my soul re­quires
To me would ev­il prove,
His love shall cross my fond de­sires,
His kind­ly jea­lous love:
But would I for His sake
With ev­ery ri­val part,
My life, my all, my friend give back?
He knows, He knows my heart.

Here then I doubt no more,
But in His plea­sure rest,
Whose wis­dom, love, and truth and pow­er
Engage to make me blest;
T’accomp­lish His de­sign,
The crea­tures all agree,
And all the at­tri­butes di­vine
Are now at work for me.

To know my fi­nal state
I at His foot­stool bow,
Who tells my soul the hand of fate
Is on the cur­tain now!
His will the veil with­draws,
And while I lift my eyes,
Discovers here a glo­ri­ous cross,
That draws me to the skies.