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Father, to thee we look in all our sorrow,
thou art the fountain whence our healing flows;
dark though the night, joy cometh with the morrow;
safely they rest who on thy love repose.
When fond hopes fail and skies are dark before us,
when the vain cares that vex our life increase,
comes with its calm the thought that thou art o'er us,
and we grow quiet, folded in thy peace.
Nought shall affright us, on thy goodness leaning;
low in the heart faith singeth still her song;
chastened by pain we learn life's deeper meaning,
and in our weakness thou dost make us strong.
Patient, 0 heart, though heavy be thy sorrows;
be not cast down, disquieted in vain;
yet shalt thou praise him, when these darkened furrows
where now he plougheth, wave with golden grain.