A Song in the Night

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 fulfil.

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 ?
'T is 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 !