Wait, O My Soul, Thy Maker’s Will

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.