“When my spirit was overwhelmed within me, then Thou knewest my path.”

My God, whose gracious pity I may claim,
Calling Thee Father — sweet, endearing name!
The sufferings of this weak and weary frame.
All, all are known to Thee.

From human eye ’tis better to conceal
Much that I suffer, much I hourly feel;
But oh ! the thought does tranquillise and heal —
All, all is known to Thee.

Each secret conflict with indwelling sin,
Each sickening fear I ne’er the prize shall win,
Each pang from irritation, turmoil, din —
All, all are known to Thee.

When in the morning unrefreshed I wake.
Or in the night but little sleep can take,
This brief appeal submissively I make —
All, all is known to Thee.

Nay, all by Thee is ordered, chosen, planned —
Each drop that fills my daily cup; Thy hand
Prescribes for ills none else can understand.
All, all is known to Thee.

The effectual means to cure what I deplore;
In me Thy longed-for likeness to restore;
Self to dethrone, never to govern more —
All, all are known to Thee.

And this continued feebleness, this state
Which seems to unnerve and incapacitate,
Will work the cure my hopes and prayers await —
That can I leave to Thee.

Nor will the bitter draught distasteful prove,
When I recall the Son of Thy dear love;
The cup Thou wouldst not for otir sakes remove —
That cup He drank for me.

He drank it to the dregs — no drop remained
Of wrath for those whose cup of woe He drained;
Man ne’er can know what that sad cup contained —
All, all is known to Thee.

And welcome, precious, can His Spirit make
My little drop of suffering for His sake.
Father I the cup I drink, the path I take,
All, all is known to Thee.

Unknown author, found in The Changed Cross by Anson D.F. Randolph