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?

‘Tis 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!