WE see not, know not; all our way br Is night, — with Thee alone is day: br From out the torrent's troubled drift, br Above the storm our prayers we lift, br Thy will be done! br The flesh may fail, the heart may faint, br But who are we to make complaint, br Or dare to plead, in times like these, br The weakness of our love of ease? br Thy will be done! br We take with solemn thankfulness br Our burden up, nor ask it less, br And count it joy that even we br May suffer, serve, or wait for Thee, br Whose will be done! br Though dim as yet in tint and line, br We trace Thy picture's wise design, br And thank Thee that our age supplies br Its dark relief of sacrifice.