Scripture Verse

All things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to His purpose. Romans 8:28

Introduction

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John Newton
1725–1807

Words: John New­ton, Ol­ney Hymns (Lon­don: W. Ol­iv­er, 1779), Book 3, num­ber 37. I will trust and not be afraid.

Music: Ly­ons at­trib­ut­ed to Jo­hann M. Hay­dn (1737–1806). Ar­ranged by Will­iam Gar­di­ner, Sac­red Me­lo­dies (Lon­don: 1815) (🔊 pdf nwc).

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Johann M. Haydn
1737–1806

Origin of the Hymn

A la­dy wrote from the Ci­ta­del of Cai­ro to Mr. Stead, It is the hymn that I love best of the hun­dreds that I know; it has helped me scores of times in the dark days of my life, and has ne­ver failed to in­spire me with fresh hope and con­fi­dence when life looked dark and drea­ry; and it is dear to me from as­so­ci­ations with the me­mo­ry of the best of fa­thers.

To him, in his ma­ny and sore trou­bles, it was a source of com­fort and help, and, I be­lieve, was to him a sort of link by which he held on to God. To me the words are not dog­ge­rel at all, they are just love­ly. I oft­en go about sing­ing them when alone to help me on the way.

Telford, p. 301

Lyrics

Begone un­belief,
My Sav­ior is near,
And for my re­lief
Will sure­ly ap­pear:
By pray­er let me wres­tle,
And He wilt per­form,
With Christ in the ves­sel,
I smile at the storm.

Though dark be my way,
Since He is my guide,
’Tis mine to ob­ey,
’Tis His to pro­vide;
Though cis­terns be brok­en,
And crea­tures all fail,
The Word He has spok­en
Shall sure­ly pre­vail.

His love in time past
Forbids me to think
He’ll leave me at last
In trou­ble to sink;
Each sweet Eb­en­ez­er
I have in re­view,
Confirms His good plea­sure
To help me quite through.

Determined to save,
He watched o’er my path,
When Sa­tan’s blind slave,
I sport­ed with death;
And can He have taught me
To trust in His name,
And thus far have brought me,
Tto put me to shame?

Why should I com­plain
Of want or dis­tress,
Temptation or pain?
He told me no less:
The heirs of sal­va­tion,
I know from His Word,
Through much tri­bu­la­tion
Must fol­low their Lord.

How bit­ter that cup,
No heart can con­ceive,
Which He drank quite up,
That sin­ners might live!
His way was much rough­er,
And dark­er than mine;
Did Je­sus thus suf­fer,
And shall I re­pine?

Since all that I meet
Shall work for my good,
The bit­ter is sweet,
The me­di­cine is food;
Though pain­ful at pre­sent,
Wilt cease be­fore long,
And then, O! how plea­sant,
The con­quer­or’s song!