No chance has brought this ill to me;
'Tis God's sweet will, so let it be;
He seeth what I cannot see.
There is a need-be for each pain,
And he will make it one day plain
That earthly loss is heavenly gain.
Like as a piece of tapestry,
Viewed from the back, appears to be
Naught but threads tangled hopelessly,
But in the front a picture fair
Rewards the worker for his care,
Proving his skill and patience rare.
Thou art the workman, I the frame;
Lord, for the glory of thy name,
Perfect thine image on the same!