My God, my Father, while I stray
Far from my home, on life's rough way,
O teach me from my heart to say,
"Thy will be done!"
Though dark my path, and sad my lot,
Let me "be still," and murmur not;
O breathe the prayer divinely taught,
"Thy will be done!"
What though in lonely grief I sigh
For friends beloved, no longer nigh,
Submissive still would I reply
"Thy will be done!"
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!"
Should grief or sickness waste away
My life in premature decay;
My Father! still I strive to say,
"Thy will be done!"
Let but my fainting heart be blest
With thy sweet Spirit for its guest;
My God! to thee I leave the rest:
"Thy will be done!"
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!"
Then, when on earth I breathe no more
The prayer oft mixed with tears before,
I'll sing upon a happier shore:
"Thy will be done!"
--Charlotte Elliott.