’Tis my hap­pi­ness be­low
Not to live with­out the cross,
But the Sav­ior’s pow­er to know,
Sanctifying ev­ery loss;
Trials must and will be­fall,
But with hum­ble faith to see
Love in­scribed up­on them all,
This is hap­pi­ness to me.

God, in Is­ra­el, sows the seeds,
Of af­flict­ion, pain and toil;
These spring up, and choke the weeds
Which would else o’er­spread the soil;
Trials make the pro­mise sweet,
Trials give new life to pray­er;
Trials bring me to His feet,
Lay me low, and keep me there.

Did I meet no tri­als here,
No chas­tise­ment by the way,
Might I not, with rea­son, fear
I should prove a cast­away?
Bastards may es­cape the rod,
Sunk in earth­ly, vain de­light;
But the true born child of God,
Must not, would not, if he might.