Soft, sweet summer was warm and glowing Bright were the blossoms on every bough I trusted Him when the roses were blooming And I trust Him now. Your way, not mine However dark it be Lead me by Your hand, Choose out the path for me. Not mine, not mine the choice In things great or small Be my guide, my strength, My wisdom and my all. Strong is my faith when weakly falters Now that the roses have ceased to grow Frail was the trust that now should alter I'm doubting his love when the storm clouds grow.