Soft nature seeks a path of ease
Secure from strange alarms;
Borne through the troubled scenes of life
In Christ's protecting arms;
Yet nobler far our strength to draw
From grace to call His will our law.

For Christ who knows our feeble mould
Ordains that here below
Through brier and bush to heavenly ground
His bairns wet-shod must go;
Past hostile thorn His steps to trace
And follow still with steadfast face.

Our heav'n is in the bud and soon
Must to a harvest grow;
For time's brief span shall eat away
And root out every woe.
Then watch in hope till sorrows end,
And Christ appear — our living Friend.