Wait, O my soul, thy Maker's will; Tumultuous passions, all be still! Nor let a murmuring thought arise; His ways are just, His counsels wise. He in the thickest darkness dwells, Performs His work, the cause conceals; But, though His methods are unknown, Judgment and truth support His throne. In heaven, and earth, and air, and seas He executes His firm decrees; And by His saints it stands confessed, That what He does is ever best. Wait, then, my soul, submissive wait; Prostrate before His awful seat; And, 'midst the terrors of His rod, Trust in a wise and gracious God.
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