See, How Rude Winter’s Icy Hand

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.