“All, All is Known to Thee.”
“WHEN my spirit was overwhelmed within me, then thou knewest my path.” My God, whose gracious pity I may claim,
Calling thee Father—sweet, endearing name—
The sufferings of this weak and weary frame
All, all are known to thee. From human eye 'tis better to conceal
Much that I suffer, much I hourly feel;
But, oh, the thought does tranquilize and heal,
All, all is known to thee. Each secret conflict with in-dwelling sin,
Each sickening fear I ne'er the prize shall win,
Each pang from irritation, turmoil, din,
All, all are known to thee. When in the morning unrefreshed I wake,
Or in the night but little sleep can take,
This brief appeal submissively I make:
All, all is known to thee. Nay, all by thee is ordered, chosen, planned—
Each drop that fills my daily cup; thy hand
Prescribes for ills none else can understand:
All, all is known to thee. The effectual means to cure what I deplore,
In me thy longed-for likeness to restore,
Self to dethrone, never to govern more,
All, all are known to thee. And this continued feebleness, this state
Which seems t' unnerve and incapacitate,
Will work the cure my hopes and prayers await:
That I can leave to thee. Nor will the bitter draught distasteful prove,
When I recall the Son of thy dear love:
The cup thou wouldst not for our sakes remove,
That cup he drank for me. He drank it to the dregs; no drop remained
Of wrath for those whose cup of woe he drained:
Man ne'er can know what that sad cup contained;
All, all is known to thee. And welcome, precious, can his Spirit make
My little drop of suffering for his sake.
Father, the cup I drink, the path I take,
All, all is known to thee,