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Should adverse gales my course impede.
Should sickness waste my form,
Give me a mind, calm and resign’d,
To meet affliction’s storm.
In every state that peace be mine,
Which doth from consience flow;
That cordial sweet, that blissed treat,
That antidote of woe.
And when my days I’ve number’d here,
And reach'd my last abode,
In that dread day, give me to say,
Bless'd be the name of God.
"I know that my redeemer lives.”
His praise I’ll ever sing:
He’s pav'd the way to endless day,—
"O grave! where is thy victory?
O Death! where is thy sting!"
