Commit what­ev­er grieves thee
Into the gra­cious hands
Of Him who ne­ver leaves thee,
Who Heav’n and earth com­mands.
Who points the clouds their cours­es,
Whom winds and waves ob­ey,
He will di­rect thy foot­steps
And find for thee a way.

On Him place Thy re­li­ance
If thou wouldst be se­cure;
His work thou must con­si­der
If thine is to en­dure.
By anx­ious sighs and griev­ing
And self tor­ment­ing care
God is not moved to giv­ing;
All must be gained by pray­er.

Thy truth and grace, O Fa­ther,
Most sure­ly see and know
Both what is good and ev­il
For mor­tal man be­low.
According to Thy coun­sel
Thou wilt Thy work pur­sue;
And what Thy wis­dom chooseth
Thy might will al­ways do.

Thy hand is ne­ver short­ened,
All things must serve Thy might;
Thine ev­ery act is bless­ing,
Thy path is pur­est light.
Thy work no man can hin­der,
Thy pur­pose none can stay,
Since Thou to bless Thy child­ren
Wilt al­ways find a way.

Though all the pow­ers of evil
The will of God op­pose,
His pur­pose will not fal­ter,
His plea­sure on­ward goes.
Whate’er God’s will re­solv­eth,
Whatever He in­tends,
Will al­ways be ac­comp­lished
True to His aims and ends.

Then hope, my fee­ble spi­rit,
And be thou un­dis­mayed;
God helps in ev­ery tr­ial
And makes thee un­afraid.
Await His time with pa­tience,
Then shall thine eyes be­hold
The sun of joy and glad­ness
His bright­est beams unfold.

Arise, my soul, and ban­ish
Thy ang­uish and thy care.
Away with thoughts that sad­den
And heart and mind en­snare!
Thou art not lord and mas­ter
Of thine own des­ti­ny;
Enthroned in high­est Hea­ven,
God rules in eq­ui­ty.

Leave all to His di­rect­ion;
In wis­dom He doth reign,
And in a way most won­drous
His course He will main­tain.
Soon He, His pro­mise keep­ing,
With won­der-work­ing skill
Shall put away the sor­rows
That now thy spi­rit fill.

A while His con­so­la­tion
He may to thee de­ny,
And seem as though in tri­al
He far from thee would fly;
A while dis­tress and ang­uish
May com­pass thee around,
Nor to thy sup­pli­ca­tion
An an­swer­ing voice be found.

But if thou per­se­ver­est,
Thou shalt de­liv­er­ance find.
Behold, all un­ex­pect­ed
He will thy soul un­bind
And from the heavy bur­den
Thy heart will soon set free;
And thou wilt see the bless­ing
He had in mind for thee.

O faith­ful child of Hea­ven,
How bless­èd shalt thou be!
With songs of glad thanks­giv­ing
A crown await­eth thee.
Into thy hand thy mak­er
Will give the vic­tor’s palm,
And thou to thy de­liv­er­er
Shalt sing a joy­ous psalm

Give, Lord, this con­sum­ma­tion
To all our heart’s dis­tress;
Our hands, our feet, e’er strength­en,
In death our spi­rits bless.
Thy truth and thy pro­tect­ion
Grant ev­er­more, we pray,
And in ce­les­tial glo­ry
Shall end our des­tined way.