He sendeth sun, he sendeth shower, br Alike they're needful for the flower: br And joys and tears alike are sent br To give the soul fit nourishment. br As comes to me or cloud or sun, br Father! thy will, not mine, be done! br Can loving children e'er reprove br With murmurs whom they trust and love? br Creator! I would ever be br A trusting, loving child to thee: br As comes to me or cloud or sun, br Father! thy will, not mine, be done! br Oh, ne'er will I at life repine: br Enough that thou hast made it mine.