O Lord, my God, do Thou Thy holy will: I will lie still, I will not stir, lest I forsake Thine arm, And break the charm, Which lulls me, clinging to my Father’s breast, In perfect rest.
To the still wrestlings of the lonely heart Doth Christ impart The virtue of His midnight agony, When none was nigh, Save God and one good angel, to assuage The tempest’s rage.
“O Father, not My will, but Thine, be done”, So spake the Son. Be this our charm, mellowing earth’s ruder noise Of griefs and joys; That we may cling for ever to Thy breast In perfect rest. Amin.
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ong did I toil and knew no earthly rest, Far did I rove and found no certain home; At last I sought them in his sheltering breast, Who opens his arms and bids the weary come: With him I found a home, a rest divine, And I since them am his and he is mine.
The good I have is from his stores supplied, The ill is only what he deems the best; He for my Friend, I'm rich with nought beside, And poor without him, though of all possessed: Changes may come, I take or I resign, Content, while I am his, while he is mine.
Whate'er may change, in him no change is seen, A glorious Sun that wanes not nor declines, Above the clouds and storms he walks serene, And on his people's inward darkness shines: All may depart, I fret not nor repine, While I my Savior's am, while he is mine.
While here, alas! I know but half his love, But half discern him and but half adore; But when I meet him in the realms above I hope to love him better, praise him more, And feel and tell, amid the choir divine, How fully I am his and he is mine. Amin.