Author of good, we rest on Thee;
Thine ever watchful eye
Alone our real wants can see,
Thy hand alone supply.

In Thine all-gracious providence
Our cheerful hopes confide;
O, let Thy power be our defence,
Thy love our footsteps guide!

And since, by passion’s force subdued,
Too oft, with stubborn will,
We blindly shun the latent good,
And grasp the specious ill,—

Not what we wish, but what we want,
Thy mercy still supply!
The good unasked, O Father, grant;
The ill, though asked, deny!