With grace and truth His loving heart For evermore is glowing, And keenly feeleth He the smart, When from our eyes are flowing Hot tears, caus'd by vain sorrow's load, As if in wrath and hate our God Could ever helpless leave us, Would never comfort give us! The evil thought, ah! put away, No more may it deceive thee, Although what happ'neth, seldom may Increase of pleasure give thee. But that will happen certainly Which God thy Father doth decree; From what He wills to send thee, No mortal can defend thee. Then to thy Father's arms of love In confidence betake thee, Pray on till His compassion move, His special care He make thee! Then by His Spirit will He guide, Through unknown paths still at thy side, From all thy woe and striving At last deliv'rance giving. CHRISTIAN CONTENTMENT. O my soul, why dost thou grieve, Why dost mourn so bitterly, That more freely God doth give Gifts to others than to thee? In thy God delight thy heart, He's the good enduring part. Of the human race have none In this world to be a right, All, yea each created one, But a guest is for a night. God in His house Lord is still, Gifts divideth as He will. Know, thou art not therefore here, That thou should'st possess the earth; Look thou up to heav'n so clear, There's thy gold of priceless worth, There is honour, there is joy, Without envy or alloy! Great the folly his who grieves For a little vanity, When God to him freely gives Treasures of eternity. Is the handredweight thy gain? Thou canst then despise the grain. All thy fair possessions see, That are valued by thy heart, None of them can go with thee When from earth thou must depart. Thou must leave them here below, When death's door thou passest through. The soul's nourishment, God's grace, And the Saviour's precious blood, Ne'er through time in worth decrease, But remain for ever good. Earthly goods must pass away, Soul-goods never can decay. Still art thou so blind, alas! Thinking--but all erringly, Eyes hast thou, but in the glass Of the word thou dost not see. Child of man! fix there thine eyes, For it is a peerless prize. Count thy fingers every one, And thine other members o'er, They are precious, they're thine own, Lov'd by thee than treasure more, Gold could never from thee buy E'en the least, though men should try. Search and ask thine inmost heart, 'Twill instruct thee what of good Daily falleth to thy part, By God's bounteous hand bestow'd; Than the sand upon the shore More, and yet desir'st thou more!