See, how rude winter’s icy hand
Has stripped the trees, and sealed the ground!
But spring shall soon his rage withstand,
And spread new beauties all around.
My soul a sharper winter mourns,
Barren and fruitless I remain;
When will the gentle spring return,
And bid my graces grow again?
Jesus, my glorious sun, arise!
’Tis Thine the frozen heart to move;
Oh! hush these storms and clear my skies,
And let me feel Thy vital love!
Dear Lord, regard my feeble cry,
I faint and droop till Thou appear;
Wilt thou permit Thy plant to die?
Must it be winter all the year?
Be still, my soul, and wait His hour,
With humble prayer, and patient faith;
Till He reveals His gracious power,
Repose on what His promise saith.
He, by whose all commanding word,
Seasons this changing course maintain;
In every change a pledge affords,
That none shall seek His face in vain.