Thou know­est, Lord,
Thou know’st my life’s deep sto­ry,
And all the min­gled
Good and ill I do;
Thou seest my shame,
My few stray gleams of glo­ry,
Where I am false
And where my soul rings true.

Lord, I am glad
Thou know’st my in­most be­ing,
Glad Thou dost search
The sec­rets of my heart;
I would not hide
One fol­ly from Thy see­ing,
Nor shun Thy heal­ing
Touch to save the smart.

Like warp and woof
The good and ill are blend­ed,
Nor do I see
The pat­tern that I weave;
Yet in Thy love
The whole is com­pre­hend­ed,
And in Thy hand
My fu­ture lot I leave.

Only, dear Lord,
Make plain the path of du­ty;
Let not my shame
And sor­row weigh me down,
Lest in des­pair
I fail to see its beau­ty,
And weep­ing vain­ly,
Miss the vic­tor’s crown.