When I can trust my all with God, In trial's fearful hour, Bow, all resigned beneath His rod, And bless His sparing pow'r, A joy springs up amid distress, A fountain in the wilderness. O, to be brought to Jesus' feet, Though trials fix me there, Is still a privilege most sweet, For He will hear my pray'r; Though sighs and tears its language be, The Lord is nigh to answer me. O, blessed be the hand that gave,- Still blessed when it takes; Blessed be He who smites to save, Who heals the heart He breaks: Perfect and true are all His ways, Whom heav'n adores and death obeys.