Verse 1
It is the Lord, whose sovereign will
Appoints our sanctified distress,
Employs the instruments of ill
To circumvent, and spoil, and seize,
Chaldean, or Sabean bands,
They execute Divine commands.

Verse 2
Injur’d, bereav’d—what shall we say?
He justly doth his own require,
If what he gave, he takes away
By fraud, or violence, or fire;
Whate’er the means, It is the Lord,
His will be done, his Name ador’d!

Verse 3
Not out of earth the trouble springs,
But comes in mercy from above,
An heavenly messenger, it brings
The tokens of a Father’s love,
Who thus his dearest children tries,
And fits, and takes them to the skies.

Verse 4
We know not what estate is best,
But his unerring goodness knows:
We might forget, with riches blest,
From whom our every blessing flows,
We might to earthly objects cleave,
And all our comfort here receive.

Verse 5
But God, the jealous God of love,
Who claims our undivided heart,
Hath pleas’d our danger to remove,
And blest with Mary’s better part,
Possessing Him, we still possess
Our souls in patience, and in peace.

Verse 6
Still, gracious Lord, our portion be,
Be Thou our wealth, we ask no more,
Happy to know, and worship Thee;
And when the storms of life are o’re,
To find in our Redeemer’s breast
The haven of eternal rest.