My Times of Sorrow and of Joy

My times of sor­row and of joy

Great God

are in Thy hand;

My choic­est com­forts come from Thee

And go at Thy com­mand.

Oh Lord

shouldst Thou with­hold them all

Yet would I not re­pine;

Before they were by me pos­sessed

They were en­tire­ly Thine.

Nor would I drop a mur­mur­ing word

Though the whole world were gone

But seek en­dur­ing hap­pi­ness

In Thee

and Thee alone.

What is the world with all its store?

’Tis but a bit­ter sweet;

When I at­tempt to pluck the rose

A prick­ing thorn I meet.

Here per­fect bliss can ne’er be found

The ho­ney’s mixed with gall;

Midst chang­ing scenes and dy­ing friends

Be Thou my all in all.