O Fa­ther! glo­ri­fy Thy name!
So prayed, at woe’s ap­proach, my Lord;
Disease cor­rodes this mor­tal frame:
O Fa­ther! be Thy name ad­ored.

Though life’s un­ruf­fled days had flown,
Ere yet was past her ver­nal prime,
And sick­ness o’er my head has strewn
The snows of age be­fore their time.

Why fear the path of grief to tread?
Why, Fa­ther! shrink from Thy de­cree,
If thus my long­ing soul be led
A saf­er, short­er way to Thee?

On wings of faith, o’er fogs of earth,
Thy ser­vant, Fa­ther! teach to rise,
And view the bless­ing’s na­tive worth,
Cleared from af­flict­ion’s dark dis­guise.

Yon clouds, a mass of sa­ble shade
To mor­tals gaz­ing from be­low,
By an­gels from above sur­veyed,
With uni­ver­sal sun­shine glow.