My times are in thy hand, my God!
And I rejoice that they are so;
My times are in thy hand, my God,
Whether it be for weal or woe.
My times are in thy hand, I know;
And if I’m washed in Jesus’ blood,
Though dark my pathway here below,
It leads directly up to God.
Since all thy children chastening need,
And all _so called_ must feel the rod,
Why for exemption should I plead,
For am I not thy child, my God?
Ah why go mourning all the day,
Or why should I from trials shrink?
Though much of sorrow’s in my cup,
The cup that I am called to drink.
‘Tis needful medicine I know,
By the most skilful hand prepared,
Strictly proportioned to my wants,
There’s _not a drop_ that can be spared.
Then why desponding, oh my soul,
Because of trials here below?
They’re all appointed by my God,
My times are in thy hand, I know.
(Mary Ann H T Bigelow)
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Based on Topics: God Poems, Sadness Poems, Soul Poems, Jesus Christ PoemsBased on Keywords: proportioned, exemption