1 Not from the dust affliction grows, Nor troubles rise by chance; Yet we are born to care and woes, A sad inheritance.
2 As sparks break out from burning coals, And still are upwards borne; So grief is rooted in our souls, And man grows up to mourn.
3 Yet with my God I leave my cause, And trust his promis'd grace; He rules me by his well-known laws Of love and righteousness.
4 Not all the pains that e'er I bore Shall spoil my future peace, For death and hell can do no more Than what my Father please.