He tells us we're weak, our hope is in vain; The good that we seek we ne'er shall obtain: But when such suggestions our graces have tried, This answers all questions, "The Lord will provide." No strength of our own nor goodness we claim; Our trust is all thrown on Jesus's name: In this our strong tower for safety we hide: The Lord is our power, "The Lord will provide." When life sinks apace, and death is in view, The word of his grace shall comfort us through; Not fearing or doubting, with Christ on our side, We hope to die shouting, "The Lord will provide." --John Newton. Art thou afraid his power will fail When comes thy evil day? And can an all-creating arm Grow weary, or decay! IF WE BELIEVED If we believed we should arise and sing, Dropping our burdens at his pierced feet. Sorrow would flee and weariness take wing, Hard things grow fair, and bitter waters sweet. If we believed, what room for fear or care Within his arms, safe sheltered on his breast? Peace for our pain, and hope for our despair, Is what he meant who said, "I give thee rest." Why linger, turn away, or idly grieve? Where else is rest--the soul's supremest need? Grandly he offers; meanly we receive. Yet love that gives us rest is love indeed. The love that rests--say, shall it not do more? Make haste, sad soul, thy heritage to claim. It calms; it heals; it bears what erst ye bore, And marks thy burdens with his own dear name. Carried in him and for him, can they harm Or press thee sore, or prove a weary weight? Nay, nay; into thy life his blessed calm Shall drop, and thou no more be desolate. TO FAITH Beside thy gracious hearth content I stay, Or with thee fate's appointed journey go; I lean upon thee when my step is slow, I wrap me with thee in the naked day. With thee no loneliness, no pathless way; The wind is heaven's, to take as it shall blow; More than thy voice, thy hand, I need not know; I may not murmur, for I shall not stray. WAIT ON GOD Not so in haste, my heart! Have faith in God, and wait; Although he seems to linger long He never comes too late. He never comes too late; He knoweth what is best; Vex not thyself, it is in vain; Until he cometh, rest. Until he cometh, rest; Nor grudge the hours that roll; The feet that wait for God, 'tis they Are soonest at the goal. Are soonest at the goal That is not gained by speed; Then hold thee still, O restless heart, For I shall wait his lead. --Bradford Torrey. BEGONE, UNBELIEF Begone, unbelief, my Saviour is near, And for my relief will surely appear. His love in time past forbids me to think He'll leave me at last in trouble to sink.