Chance has not brought this ill to me;
It's God's own hand, so let it be,
For He sees what I cannot see.
There is a purpose for each pain,
And He one day will make it plain
That earthly loss is Heavenly gain.
Like as a piece of tapestry
Viewed from the back it appears to be
Only threads tangled hopelessly;
But in the front a picture fair
Rewards the worker for his care,
Proving his skill and patience rare.
You are the workman, I the frame.
Lord, for the glory of Your Name,
Perfect Your image on the same.
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