I TAKE this pain, Lord Jesus, From Thine own hand, The strength to bear it bravely Thou wilt command. I am too weak for effort, So let me rest, In hush of sweet submission, On Thine own breast. I take this pain, Lord Jesus, As proof indeed That Thou art watching closely My truest need; That Thou, my Good Physician, Art watching still; That all Thine own good pleasure Thou wilt fulfill. I take this pain, Lord Jesus; What Thou dost choose The soul that really loves Thee Will not refuse. It is not for the first time I trust to-day; For Thee my heart has never A trustless "Nay!" I take this pain, Lord Jesus; But what beside? 'Tis no unmingled portion Thou dost provide. In every hour of faintness My cup runs o'er With faithfulness and mercy, And love's sweet store. I take this pain, Lord Jesus, As Thine own gift; And true though tremulous praises I now uplift. I am too weak to sing them, But Thou dost hear The whisper from the pillow, Thou art so near! 'Tis thy dear hand, O Saviour, That presseth sore, The hand that bears the nail-prints For evermore. And now beneath its shadow, Hidden by Thee, The pressure only tells me Thou lovest me! |