1 Though trouble springs not from the dust,
nor sorrow from the ground;
yet ills on ills, by Heav’n’s decree,
in man’s estate are found.
2 As sparks in close succession rise,
so man, the child of woe,
is doom'd to endless cares and toils
through all his life below.
3 But with my God I leave my cause;
from him I seek relief;
to him, in confidence of pray'r
unbosom all my grief.
4 Unnumbered are his wondrous works,
unsearchable his ways;
’tis his the mourning soul to cheer,
the bowed down to raise.