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1 Not from the dust affliction grows,
Nor troubles rise by chance;
Yet we are born to cares and woes:
A sad inheritance!
2 As sparks break out from burning coals,
And still are upwards borne:
So grief is rooted in our souls,
And man grows up to mourn.
3 Yet with my God I leave my cause,
And trust his promis'd grace:
He rules me by his well known laws
Of love and righteousness.
4 Not all the pains that e'er I bore
Shall spoil my future peace:
For death and hell can do no more
Than what my Father please.
Text Information | |
---|---|
First Line: | Not from the dust affliction grows |
Title: | Afflictions and death under Providence |
Meter: | L. M. |
Language: | English |
Publication Date: | 1793 |
Scripture: | |
Notes: | Now Public Domain. |