He sendeth sun, he sendeth shower, Alike they ’re needful for the flower; And joys and tears alike are sent To give the soul fit nourishment: As comes to me or cloud or sun, Father, thy will, not mine, be done! Can loving children e’er reprove With murmurs whom they trust and love? Creator, I would ever be A trusting, loving child to thee: As comes to me or cloud or sun, Father, thy will, not mine, be done! Oh, ne’er will I at life repine; Enough that thou hast made it mine; When falls the shadow cold of death, I yet will sing with parting breath: As comes to me or shade or sun, Father, thy will, not mine, be done!
Collection:
1825
Sub Title:
VI. Human Experience