No. X. Complaint and Hope under great Pain. 1736

Lord, I am pain'd; but I resign To thy superior will: 'Tis grace, 'tis wisdom all divine, Appoints the pains I feel.

Dark are thy ways of Providence, While those that love thee groan: Thy reasons lie conceal'd from sense, Mysterious and unknown.

Yet nature may have leave to speak, And plead before her God, Lest the o'erburden'd heart should break Beneath thy heavy rod.

Will nothing but such daily pain Secure my soul from hell? Canst thou not make my health attain Thy kind designs as well?

How shall my tongue proclaim thy grace While thus at home confin'd? What can I write, while painful flesh Hangs heavy on the mind?

These groans and sighs, and flowing tears, Give my poor spirit ease, While every groan my Father hears, And every tear he sees.

Is not some smiling hour at hand With peace upon it's wings? Give it, O GOD, thy swift command, With all the joys it brings.