Wait, O my soul, thy maker’s will;
Tumultuous passions, all be still!
Nor let a murmuring thought arise;
His ways are just, His counsels wise.
He in the thickest darkness dwells,
Performs His work, the cause conceals;
But, though His methods are unknown,
Judgment and truth support His throne.
In Heaven, and earth, and air, and seas
He executes His firm decrees;
And by His saints it stands confessed,
That what He does is ever best.
Wait, then, my soul, submissive wait;
Prostrate before His awful seat;
And, ’midst the terrors of His rod,
Trust in a wise and gracious God.