His grace is sufficient,
Then why need I fear,
Though the testing be hard,
And the trial severe?
He tempers each wind
That upon me doth blow,
And tenderly whispers,
“Thy Father doth know.”
His pow’r is sufficient,
Then why should I quail,
Though the storm clouds hang low,
And though wild is the gale?
His strength will not falter,
Whatever betide,
And safe on His bosom
He bids me to hide.
His love is sufficient,
Yea, boundless and free;
As high as the mountains,
As deep as the sea.
Ah, there I will rest
Till the darkness is o’er,
And wake in His likeness,
To dwell evermore.
by Avis B. Christiansen
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