Wrapt in the robe of Faith,
    Come to the place of prayer,
And seal thy deathless vows to Him
    Who makes thy life his care.

Doth he thy sunny skies
    O'ercloud with tempest gloom?
Or take the idol of thy breast,
    And hide it in the tomb?

Or bid thy treasur'd joys
    In hopeless ruin lie?
Search not his reasons,—wait his will,
    Thy record is on high.

For should he strip thy heart
    Of all it boasts on earth,
And set thee naked and alone,
    As at thy day of birth,

He cannot do thee wrong,
    Those gifts were his at first,
Draw nearer to his changeless throne,
    Bow deeper in the dust.

Calls he thy parting soul
    Unbodied from the throng?
Cling closer to thy Saviour's cross,
    And raise the victor song.