“THY WILL BE DONE.”

’Tis rebellion gives us pain, Anguish comes when we complain In the stormy day; When the will is all subdued, When no murm’ring thoughts intrude, Sorrow flies away. Tranquil as the sleeping sea, Ever may our bosoms be, Though our all is gone; Sweetly passive when we lie, Fearing not the frowning sky, Brighter prospects dawn. O! ye pilgrims, do ye know When the heavenly breezes blow O’er this wretched earth? ’Tis when sorrow rends the heart; Then the Savior doth impart Joys of heavenly birth. When, in God’s mysterious way, Sorrow’s night shuts out the day, Patient let me be; Death, thou great destroyer, come! Take my friends and bear them home, Then return for me!