Christian Devotion to God's Will

I into God's own heart and mind
My heart and mind deliver,
What evil seems, a gain I find,
E’en death is life for ever.
I am His son,
Who spread the throne
Of heaven high above me.
Tho’ I bend low
Beneath His blow,
Yet still His heart doth love me.

He ne’er can prove untrue to me,
My Father aye must love me,
And tho’ He cast me in the sea,
He only thus would prove me;
In what He good
Doth count, He would
My heart establish ever.
And if I stand,
His mighty hand
Will raise me, and deliver.

Vain had my own pow’r ever been,
To have adorn’d or made me;
In soul and body God is seen,
He form’d and He array’d me,
Plac’d mind and wit
On the soul’s seat,
And flesh and bones did give me.
Who thus so free
Supplieth me
Can ne’er mean to deceive me.

Say, where a place to lay my head,
On earth had I attainèd?
Long since had I been cold and dead
Had God not me sustainèd
With His strong arm,
That ever warm,
And glad and healthy maketh.
Whom He gives joy
May praise employ,
What He leaves, falls and breaketh.

Wisdom and understanding true
In Him are ever dwelling;
Time, place, to leave undone or do,
He knoweth, never failing.
He ever knows
When joys, when woes,
Are best for those He loveth.
What He doth here—
Tho’ it appear
Ill—to be good aye proveth.

Thou think’st indeed, if thou hast not
What flesh and blood is yearning
To have, that trial mars thy lot,
Thy light to darkness turning.
Of toil and care
Thou hast large share,
Ere thou thy wish attainest,
And dost not see
Whatever thee
Befals, thereby thou gainest.

In truth, He who created thee,
His glory in thee showing,
Hath long ago in His decree
Determin’d—all foreknowing—
What good for thee
And thine will be,
In faithfulness he’ll give it.
Curb thou thy will,
Wait! be thou still,
To His good pleasure leave it.

Whate’er to send, seems good to God,
’Twill be at last refreshing,
Altho’ thou call’st it cross and load
’Tis fraught with richest blessing.
Wait patiently,
His grace to thee
He’ll speedily discover.
All grief and fear
Shall disappear
Like mist the hills spread over.

The field, unless the storm rage high,
Its ripe fruits yieldeth never,
So men were ruin’d utterly
If all were prosp’rous ever.
Though health it gives,
And thus relieves,
The bitter aloe paineth;
So must the heart
With anguish smart,
Ere it to health attaineth.

My God! my God! into Thy hand
I joyfully now yield me,
Keep me, a stranger in the land,
E’en to the end, Lord! shield me.
Deal with me now
As well dost know,
That I may profit by it;
Then more and more
Thy glorious pow’r,
Lord! show, and magnify it.

Wilt cause Thy sun on me to shine,
With pleasure, Lord, I’ll share it;
Should trial or mischance be mine,
Then patiently I’ll bear it.
Of life the door
Should it before
Me open here stand ever,
Where Thou lead’st me,
I’ll joyfully
Go with Thee, shrinking never.

Should I along the path of death,
Through the dark vale be treading,
’Tis well, ’tis the appointed path,
E’en there Thine eyes are leading.
My Shepherd! Thou
Art all below
To such an issue bringing,
That I to Thee,
Eternally,
Shall songs of praise be singing.

Paul Gerhardt’s Spiritual Songs, 1867