Fret not thyself, my heart!
The Lord hath care for thee:
Tho’ desolate and poor thou art,
He shall thy portion be;
His covenant stands firm and sure;
His mercy ever shall endure.
He slumbers not, He will not sleep,
All safe thou art, for He doth keep;
Hold firm thy trust, tho’ clouds arise,
In God’s good hand thy future lies.
He compasses thy path
And knoweth all thy ways;
A purpose true of love He hath,
Which runs throughout thy days;
He sees the end thou canst not see,
And what He wills is best for thee.
To Him a thousand years
Are but as yesterday;
An hour, an age, the same appear—
He changeth not for aye;
And soon or late, in shade or sun,
His plan is wrought, His will is done.
Be silent, O my soul!
Let thy complaining cease;
On Him thy burden thou mayst roll,
And walk henceforth in peace;
Where He abides all storms are stilled,
And every need is more than filled.