My God, Thy name is love;
A Father's hand is Thine.
With tearful eyes, I look above,
And cry,-Thy will be mine!

I know Thy will is right,
Though it may seem severe:
Thy path is still unsullied light,
Though dark it may appear.

Jesus for me hath died;
Thy Son Thou didst not spare;
His pierced hands, His bleeding side,
Thy love for me declare.

Here my poor heart can rest;
My God, it cleaves to Thee.
Thy will is love, Thine end is blest,
All work for good to me.

J. N. D.