Father, to Thee we
Look in all our sor­row,
Thou art the fount­ain
Whence our heal­ing flows;
Dark though the night,
Joy com­eth with the mor­row;
Safely they rest who
On Thy love re­pose.

When fond hopes fail
And skies are dark be­fore us,
When the vain cares that
Vex our lives in­crease,
Comes with its calm
The thought that Thou art o’er us,
And we grow qui­et,
Folded in Thy peace.

Naught shall af­fright us,
On Thy good­ness lean­ing;
Low in the heart faith
Singeth still her song;
Chastened by pain
We learn life’s deep­er mean­ing,
And in our weak­ness
Thou dost make us strong.

Patient, O heart, though
Heavy be Thy sor­rows;
Be not cast down,
Disquieted in vain;
Yet shalt thou praise Him,
When these dark­ened fur­rows,
Where now He plough­eth,
Wave with gold­en grain.