Till, by angel-bands attended,
We awake among the blest.
1 THY way, not mine, O Lord,
However dark it be;
Lead me by thine own hand,
Choose out the path for me.
2. I dare not choose my lot,
I would not if I might;
Choose thou for me, my God,
So shall I walk aright.
3 The kingdom that I seek
Is thine, so let the way
That leads to it be thine,
Else I must surely stray.
4 Choose thou for me my friend
My sickness or my health;
Choose thou my cares for me,
My poverty or wealth.
5 Not mine, not mine the choice,
In things or great or small;
Be thou my guide, my strength,
My wisdom and my all.
1 My Jesus, as thou wilt!
Oh, may thy will be mine!
Into thy hand of love
I would my all resign:
Through sorrow, or through joy,
Conduct me as thine own,
And help me still to say,
My Lord, thy will be done!
2 My Jesus, as thou wilt!
If needy here and poor,
Give me thy people's bread,
Their portion rich and sure.
The manna of thy word
Let my soul feed upon;
And if all else should fail,
My Lord, thy will be done!
2 My Jesus, as thou wilt!
Though seen through many a tear,
Let not my star of hope
Grow dim or disappear:
Since thou on earth hast wept
And sorrowed oft alone,
If I must weep with thee,
My Lord, thy will be done!
4 My Jesus, as thou wilt!
All shall be well for me:
Each changing future scene
I gladly trust with thee.
Straight to my home above
I travel calmly on,
And sing, in life or death,
My Lord, thy will be done!
B. Schmolke, 1714; tr. by Jane Borthwick, 1853.
1 Mr God and Father, while I stray
Far from my home, on life's rough way,
Oh teach me from my heart to say,
Thy will be done!
2 Though dark my path and sad my lot, Let me be still and murmur not,
Or breathe the prayer divinely taught,
Thy will be done!
3 What though in lonely grief I sigh
For friends beloved, no longer nigh,
Submissive still would I reply,
Thy will be done!
4 Should grief or sickness waste away
My life in premature decay,
My Father! still I strive to say,
Thy will be done!
5 Though thou hast called me to resign
What most I prized, it ne'er was mine,
I have but yielded what was thine;
Thy will be done!
6 Let but my fainting heart be blest
With thy sweet Spirit for its guest,
My God, to thee I'll leave the rest;
Thy will be done!
7 Renew my will from day to day;
Blend it with thine, and take away
All that now makes it hard to say,
Thy will be done!
8 Then when on earth I breathe no more, The prayer oft mixed with tears before I'll sing upon a happier shore:
1 O HOLY Saviour, Friend unseen,
The faint, the weak, on thee may lean:
Help me, throughout life's varying scene,
By faith to cling to thee!
2 Blest with communion so divine,
Take what thou wilt, shall I repine,
When, as the branches to the vine,
My soul may cling to thee?
3 Far from her home, fatigued, opprest,
Here she has found a place of rest,
An exile still, yet not unblest
While she can cling to thee!
4 Though faith and hope awhile be tried,
I ask not, need not, aught beside:
How safe, how calm, how satisfied,
The souls that cling to thee!
5 They fear not life's rough storms to brave,
Since thou art near, and strong to save;
Nor shudder e'en at death's dark wave,
Because they cling to thee!
6 Blest is my lot, whate'er befall :
What can disturb me, who appall,
While, as my strength, my rock, my all,
Saviour, I cling to thee?
1 WHEN gathering clouds around I view,
And days are dark and friends are few,
On him I lean who not in vain
Experienced every human pain;
He sees my wants, allays my fears,
And counts and treasures up my tears.
2 If aught should tempt my soul to stray
From heavenly wisdom's narrow way,
To fly the good I would pursue,
Or do the sin I would not do,
Still he who felt temptation's power
Shall guard me in that dangerous hour.
3 If wounded love my bosom swell,
Deceived by those I prized too well,
He shall his pitying aid bestow
Who felt on earth severer woe,
At once betrayed, denied, or fled,
By those who shared his daily bread.
4 When sorrowing o'er some stone I bend Which covers what was once a friend,
And from his voice, his hand, his smile,
Divides me for a little while,
Thou, Saviour, mark'st the tears I shed,
For thou didst weep o'er Lazarus dead.
5 And oh, when I have safely past
Through every conflict but the last,
Still, still unchanging, watch beside
My painful bed, for thou hast died;
Then point to realms of cloudless day,
And wipe the latest tear away.
1 HE sendeth sun, he sendeth shower,
Alike they're needful for the flower;
And joys and tears alike are sent
To give the soul fit nourishment:
As comes to me or cloud or sun,
Father, thy will, not mine, be done.
2 Can loving children e'er reprove
With murmurs whom they trust and love?
Creator, I would ever be
A trusting, loving child to thee:
As comes to me or cloud or sun,
Father, thy will, not mine, be done.
3 Oh ne'er will I at life repine;
Enough that thou hast made it mine;
When fall the shadows cold of death,
I yet will sing with parting breath,—
As comes to me or shade or sun,
Father, thy will, not mine, be done.
Sarah Flower Adams, 1841.
1 WHEN languor and disease invade This trembling house of clay,
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