The darkest shades, through which we pass,
Shall echo with his praise.
628. L. M. Beddome.
Submission.
1Wait, O my soul, thy Maker's will!
Tumultuous passions, all be still!
Nor let one murmuring thought arise;
His ways are just, his counsels wise.
2He in the thickest darkness dwells,
Performs his work,--the cause conceals;