We See Not, Know Not

We see not

know not; all our way

Is night—with Thee alone is day:

From out the tor­rent’s trou­bled drift

Above the storm our pray­ers we lift

Thy will be done!

The flesh may fail

the heart may faint

But who are we to make com­plaint

Or dare to plead

in times like these

The weak­ness of our love of ease?

Thy will be done!

We take with so­lemn thank­ful­ness

Our bur­den up

nor ask it less

And count it joy that ev­en we

May suf­fer

serve

or wait for Thee

Whose will be done!

Though dim as yet in tint and line

We trace Thy pic­ture’s wise de­sign

And thank Thee that our age sup­plies

Its dark re­lief of sac­ri­fice.

Thy will be done!

And if

in our un­wor­thi­ness

Thy sac­ri­fi­cial wine we press

If from Thy or­deal’s heat­ed bars

Our feet are seamed with crim­son scars

Thy will be done!

If

for the age to come

this hour

Of tri­al hath vi­ca­ri­ous pow­er

And

blest by Thee

our pre­sent gain

Be li­ber­ty’s eter­nal gain

Thy will be done!

Strike

Thou the Mas­ter

we Thy keys

The an­them of the des­ti­nies!

The mi­nor of Thy lof­ti­er strain

Our hearts shall breathe the old re­frain

Thy will be done!