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424 The Book of Praise.
When sorrowing o'er some stone I bend, Which covers what was once a friend, And from his voice, his hand, his smile, Divides me for a little while ; Thou, Saviour, mark'st the tears I shed, For Thou didst weep o'er Lazarus dead !
And O ! when I have safely past Through every conflict but the last; Still, still unchanging, watch beside My painful bed, for Thou hast died ! Then point to realms of cloudless day, And wipe the latest tear away !
Sir Robert Grant. 1806— 1812. |
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CCCXCIX.
Whate'er my God ordains is right;
His-will is ever just; Howe'er He orders now my cause, I will be still and trust. He is my God ; Though dark my road, He holds me that I shall not fall; Wherefore to Him I leave it all.
Whate'er my God ordains is right;
He never will deceive ; He leads me by the proper path, And so to Him I cleave, And take content What He hath sent; His hand can turn my griefs away, And patiently I wait His day. |
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