Flow on, Thou Fountain of my joy,
Through all the wilderness!
Thou seest what will work for good,
Thou knowest how to bless.
Get Thyself glory, O my God,
Be praised in my distress!
O, let Thy true, refining love
Its utmost pleasure see
And lift not up Thy faithful hand
Whate'er my cry may be,
Till I am strong for Thy renown,
And pure for use to Thee.
I know Thine eye has weighed the path
To Thy lost creature's bliss.
No comfort could supply the need
Of grief so sore as this; —
No joy could wake my heart so well
To Thy full preciousness.
Thou wast the Source of all that love
Which makes me glad no more, —
And Thou hast taken to Thyself
What was Thine own before.
Thine, and mine too, O Good to give,
O Faithful to restore.
That loving spirit is withdrawn
From every shade of sin;
And I in sympathy with her
A holier life begin.
Yes! to her new delight in Thee,
I, Lord, can enter in.
She with Thee, wheresoe'er Thou art,
In fellowship untold!
She in Thee, living by my Bread,
My hope, my heart's stronghold!
O! 'tis a song for days of grief,
Whate'er their depths unfold.
As one whose mother comforts him,
I will lift up my head.
No wound of Thine shall take the life
From words which Thou hast said,
And in the fulness of Thy truth
I shall be comforted.
Hymns and Meditations, 1873