The burden's great and hard to bear, But Thy strong arm and Father's care Are not to us unknown. Thou punishest, but 'mid the woe Thou love and friendliness dost show. But true to Thee must we abide, For ne'er from us dost Thou quite hide Thy saving health and light. How many hast Thou given o'er, We've oft been shielded by Thy pow'r. In many a sad and weary hour, When gath'ring clouds did o'er us low'r Above our anxious heads, Thou still'd'st the storm, whose mighty hand Upholdeth sky and sea and land. How often, Lord, by day and night, Our enemies with craft and might Have threaten'd us, Thy flock! But, faithful Shepherd! Thou wast near, Repell'dst the wolf and still'dst our fear. Our brethren are compell'd to roam, Are driven forth from house and home, While we, Lord, still enjoy Each one his seat beneath the shade By his own vine and fig-tree made. Behold! my heart, on every hand The towns and fields of many a land Are doom'd to ruin sure, The homes of men are overthrown, The houses of our God cast down. But rest and order still remain With us, and we can still maintain The worship of our God. God's mind from out His holy word 'Mongst us is daily taught and heard. Whoever this doth not perceive, But to the winds such thoughts doth give, Who in such blessèd light No grace, no love, no goodness find, How dark, thrice darken'd is their mind! O gracious God! preserve us free For aye from such stupidity; Lord, give us gratitude, That songs of praise in sweetest tone We may present before Thy throne. To nought we've done, or e'er can do, To Thee--to Thee alone is due The praise, O fount of love! We've earned destruction from Thy face, Thou deal'st with us in love and grace. Oh! may we meditate Thy grace, Till heart shall burn and tongue shall praise, And give angelic zeal, That every throbbing pulse may be A note of praise, O Lord! to Thee. But let the tide of woe recede, Restore to us our joy, we plead, May peace to us return. How many in this vale of tears Have never witness'd peaceful years! Are we unworthy? then with Thee We plead for helpless infancy, Who wrong have never done. Shall cradled infants feel the stroke, Shall they endure the heavy yoke? Have pity, Lord! oh, tender heart! What heavy sighs, what bitter smart, From our sad hearts are wrung! No stone, our Saviour God art Thou, How canst Thou so afflict us now? How grievous are our wounds and sore, They stink and fester more and more, But Thou canst heal them all. Pour in the oil of grace, that whole Can make the body and the soul.