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Poem by John Stagg
Hail, mighty Father! God of all! In whom the just rejoice; To whom whole worlds obedient fall, Hear, hear my suppliant voice? Conduct me thro' this wilder'd path, With thy all-guiding hand, That I may learn to shun thy wrath, And wait on thy command. Let me be neither high nor low, But in a medium state, Least I too great thy rules forgo, Or poor I curse my fate. Make me contented with my lot, Nor let my heart repine, For be I great or be I not, 'Tis thy great will divine. Great Heav'n still works but for the best, Tho' men conceive the worst, He who's content is truly blest, If discontent, accurst. If I am blind, need I to grieve, 'Twas Heav'n's all-wise decree, Who could with ease my loss retrieve, If that were mete for me. Yet know the man that's truly just, And in his soul sincere, Who in his God confides his trust, Needs no disaster fear. When troubles compass him around, And sorrows wide distend, When no apparent help is found, His God shall stand his friend. Not all the storms that shake the pole, Nor sweep the foaming main, Can e'er disturb his halcyon soul, Or force him to complain. Then with unanimous accord, Let all the earth combine, To praise the mighty God, the Lord Eternal and divine. To God the Father and the Son, And holy Spirit, Three in One, Let all the earth their praises pour, Not only now—but evermore.
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