Classic Poem

Precious thought, my Father knoweth,
In His love I rest;
For whate'er my Father doeth
Must be always best.
Well I know the heart that planneth,
Nought but good for me;
Joy and sorrow interwoven;
Love in all I see.

Precious thought, my Father knoweth,
Careth for His child;
Bids me nestle closer to Him
When the storm beats wild.
Tho' my earthly hopes are shattered,
And the tear drops fall,
Yet He is Himself my solace,
Yea, my Friend, my all.

Oh, to trust Him then more fully,
Just to simply move
In the conscious, calm enjoyment
Of the Father's love;
Knowing that life's chequered pathway
Leadeth to His rest,
Satisfied the way He taketh
Must be always best.