See, how rude winter's icy hand

See, how rude winter's icy hand
Has stripped the trees, and sealed the ground!
But spring shall soon his rage withstand,
And spread new beauties all around.

My soul, a sharper winter mourns,
Barren and fruitless I remain;
When will the gentle spring return,
And bid my graces grow again?

Jesus, my glorious Sun arise!
'Tis thine, the frozen heart to move
O hush these storms and clear my skies,
And let me feel thy vital love!

Dear Lord, regard my feeble cry,
I faint and droop till thou appear;
Wilt thou permit thy plant to die?
Must it be winter all the year?

Be still, my soul, and wait his hour,
With humble prayer, and patient faith;
Till he reveals his gracious pow'r,
Repose on what his promise faith.

He, by whose all-commanding word,
Seasons this changing course maintain;
In every change a pledge affords,
That none shall seek his face in vain.