He only plays a hero's part Who cherishes within his heart The Saviour's love; whate'er betide, Firm as a rock shall he abide When heav'n and earth shall pass away; Though men forsake, God's word's his stay. The word of God beguiles our fears, And turns to smiles our bitter tears; It robs misfortune of the pow'r Of hurting in the evil hour; It brings the sadden'd heart relief, When bow'd beneath the load of grief. Now cease, I pray, your tale of woe: Though full of grief this life below, Still falleth to the Christian's share Salvation and God's guardian care; Who loves the Saviour, trusts in God, Remains unmov'd beneath the rod. As gold into the fire is cast, And comes forth purified at last, So saints supported by God's grace Uninjur'd through affliction pass; A child his father's child is still, Although his father's rod he feel. Dear heart, chase all thy fears away, On thy God's faithfulness now stay, Though smiting with His chast'ning rod, He means it well, 'tis for thy good; Confide in Him, His guiding hand Will bring thee to the better land. Live on according to His will, Although the way be rough, be still! In heav'n Thou hast a mansion fair, Where joy will banish every care; If here we to the Saviour cleave, With Jesu's angels shall we live. THOU ART BUT MAN! Thou art but man, to thee 'tis known, Why dost thou then endeavour To do what God should do alone, Or can accomplish ever? A thousand griefs thou goest through, In spite of all thy wit can do; Upon thine end thou pond'rest, What it will be thou wond'rest. 'Tis all in vain, in vain thy care, With all thy musings earnest, In all thy life a single hair Thou white or black ne'er turnest. The griefs by which thou'rt sore distress'd Can only serve to mar thy rest, Cause anguish unavailing, Thy life itself curtailing. Wilt thou do what is for thy good, And what thy God good seeth? Then cast on Him each heavy load, 'Fore whom earth and heav'n fleeth. Thy life and labour, all that's thine, With joy into God's hand resign; A happy end He'll ever Give thee, and thee deliver. Who car'd for thee ere light of day Had dawn'd upon thy vision, While in the womb thy soul still lay As in a gloomy prison? Who thought upon thy welfare then? What good did all the might of men Do, when to thee were given Life, mind, and pow'r from heaven? Whose skill was it that fashion'd thee? And who thy frame uprearèd? To glad our eyes, by whose decree, Say, hath the light appearèd? Who hath thy veins in order laid, For each a course convenient made? Who hath thy frame replenish'd With members fair and finish'd?