'Tis all the same to me;
Sorrow, and strife, and pining want, and pain!
Whate'er it is, it cometh all from Thee,
And 'tis not mine to doubt Thee or complain.
Thou knowest what is best;
And who, oh God, but Thee hath power to know?
'Tis Thine alike with good to make us blest,
And Thine to send affliction's hour of woe.
No questions will I ask.
Do what Thou wilt, my Father and my God!
Be mine the dear and consecrated task,
To bless the loving hand that lifts the rod.
All, all shall please me well;
Since living faith hath made it understood,
That in the shadowy folds of sorrow dwell
The seeds of life and everlasting good.
Sorrow, and strife, and pining want, and pain!
Whate'er it is, it cometh all from Thee,
And 'tis not mine to doubt Thee or complain.
Thou knowest what is best;
And who, oh God, but Thee hath power to know?
'Tis Thine alike with good to make us blest,
And Thine to send affliction's hour of woe.
No questions will I ask.
Do what Thou wilt, my Father and my God!
Be mine the dear and consecrated task,
To bless the loving hand that lifts the rod.
All, all shall please me well;
Since living faith hath made it understood,
That in the shadowy folds of sorrow dwell
The seeds of life and everlasting good.
— Christ in the Soul (1872) XXIII.
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