Satisfied

Satisfied
Music by John Gilmore
Words by Mary Baker Eddy

It matters not what be thy lot,
So Love doth guide;
For storm or shine,
Pure peach is thine,
What e’er be tide.
And of these stones,
Or tyrants’ thrones,
God able is
To raise up seed in though and deed
To faithful His.

Aye, darkling sense, arise, go hence!
Our God is good.
False fears are foes truth,
Tatters those, when understood.

Love losseth thee, and lifteth me,
A yont hate’s thrall:
There Life is light,
And wisdom might,
And god is All.

The centries break,
The earthbound wake,
God’s glorified!
Who doth his will his likeness still is satisfied.

Copyright 2005 Johnny Rand Music Publishing
Words used courtesy of The Mary Baker Eddy Collection