2 Whate'er, O Lord, thou hast designed To bring my soul to thee in trust, If miseries or afflictions kind,-- For all thy dealings, Lord, are just,-- Take all, but grant, in goodness free, That love which ne'er thy stroke should shun; Support this heart and strengthen me To say in faith, "Thy will be done." 616. C. M. Doddridge. "My times are in thy hand." 1 To Thee, my God, my days are known; My soul enjoys the thought; My actions all before thy face, Nor are my faults forgot. 2 Each secret breath devotion vents Is vocal to thine ear; And all my walks of daily life Before thine eye appear. 3 Each golden hour of beaming light Is gilded by thy rays; And dark affliction's midnight gloom A present God surveys. 4 Full in thy view through life I pass, And in thy view I die; And when each mortal bond is broke, Shall find my God is nigh. 617. C. M. Tate & Brady. Praising God through all Changes. 1 Through all the changing scenes of life, In trouble and in joy, The praises of my God shall still My heart and tongue employ. 2 Of his deliverance I will boast, Till all who are distressed From my example comfort take, And charm their griefs to rest. 3 The hosts of God encamp around The dwellings of the just; Deliverance he affords to all Who in his succor trust. 4 O make but trial of his love! Experience will decide How blest they are, and only they, Who in his truth confide. 618. S. M. Watts. Trusting in God. 1 From early dawning light Till evening shades arise, For thy salvation, Lord, I wait, With ever-longing eyes. 2 Remember all thy grace, And lead me in thy truth; Forgive the sins of riper days, And follies of my youth. 3 The Lord is just and kind; The meek shall learn his ways, And every humble sinner find The blessings of his grace. 619. C. M. Cowper. Resignation and Trust. 1 O Lord, my best desire fulfil, And help me to resign Life, health and comfort to thy will, And make thy pleasure mine. 2 Why should I shrink at thy command, Whose love forbids my fears? Or tremble at thy gracious hand That wipes away my tears? 3 No! let me rather freely yield What most I prize, to thee; Who never hast a good withheld, Or wilt withhold from me. 4 But ah! my inmost spirit cries, Still bind me to thy sway; Else the next cloud that veils the skies, Drives all these thoughts away. 620. L. M. Bowring. The Same. 1 On light-beams breaking from above, The eternal course of mercy runs; And by ten thousand cords of love Our heavenly Father guides his sons.