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.
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