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.