Yes, I will leave it all with Thee,
And only ask that I may be
Submissive to Thy loving will,
Confiding, waiting, trusting still.
Thou every fond desire dost know
Which in my inmost heart doth glow;
Thou hearest every secret sigh
When silent sorrow’s power is nigh.
Omniscience alone may tell
The thoughts which in my spirit dwell;
But ’t is a soothing word to me,
‘My Father every thought can see.’
He knows them all—the hopes—the fears—
Confided not to mortal ears.
He knows the deep intensity
Of feelings wakened now in me.
And if He knows them, ’t is enough!
I need not fear a stern rebuff;
There’s sympathy within His breast,
On which my weary heart can rest.
Nor is there sympathy alone,
Almighty is my Father’s throne,
And He can grant me each desire;
His gracious hand may never tire.
He can. But will He? Trust Him yet,
My faithless soul! Can I forget
That He hath passed His word of old—
‘Not one good thing will He withhold
From them, the children of My love,
Whose hearts are set on things above’?
Not one good thing! But can I see
What may be good, what ill for me?
Can I unbar the massy gate
Which hides from me the way I take?
But His eye turneth night to day,
E’en like the lightning’s piercing ray;
Then here is my security,
That God my truest good doth see.
That joy which earnestly I crave,
O’er which my fondest hopes now wave,
Might prove to me the shade of death!
That healing breeze—the Simoom’s breath,
If so—it never will be mine.
At such a loss shall I repine?
No! let me rather praise the Hand
Which looseneth the dangerous band.
But if it be a heaven-born plant,
For whose sweet flowers my soul doth pant
If heavenly gladness it shall bring,
And raise my soul on angel wing,
Till nearer Thee each day I live,—
Oh, then that blessing Thou wilt give.
The joy scarce hoped for shall be mine.
A deeply grateful heart be Thine!
Then I will leave it all with Thee!
My Father, grant that I may be
Submissive to Thine own good will,
Confiding, waiting, loving still!