Submission

My 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.”

If Thou doest call me to resign

What most I prize–it ne’er was mine;

I only yield Thee what was Thine:

“Thy will be done.”

Should pining sickness waste away

My life in premature decay,

My Father, still I strive to say,

“Thy will be done.”

If but my fainting heart be blest

With Thy sweet Spirit for my 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.”

(Poet unknown)