How often, Lord, when‘ tis Thy will
To use the chastening rod,
My soul, possessed of passions ill,
Rebels against its God!
Denies that Justice reigns in heaven,
Doth His decrees pervade;
And loathes the blessings He hath given,
The creatures He hath made!
Do thou the spirit me instil
Of sweet submission, Lord,
And teach me to Thy sovereign will
In meekness to accord;
Like Him who felt affliction's fire,
But never did repine;
And bore the cross at Thy desire,
When harder far than mine.
Enough, it is my King's command!
What more do I require?
Yet what is from a father's hand
Can but to good conspire.
And all Thy workings are inwove
In Thine eternal plan,
Which wills the welfare in Thy love,
And works the weal of man.