O Lord, thy heavenly grace impart,

And fix my frail, inconstant heart;

Henceforth my chief delight shall be

To dedicate myself to thee,

To thee, my God, to thee.

2 Whate’er pursuits my time employ,

One thought shall fill my soul with joy;

That silent, secret thought shall be,

That all my hopes are fixed on thee,

On thee, my God, on thee.

3 Thy glorious eye pervadeth space;

Thy presence, Lord, fills every place;

And, wheresoe’er my lot may be,

Still shall my spirit cleave to thee,

To thee, my God, to thee.

4 Renouncing every wordly thing,

And safe beneath thy sheltering wing,

My sweetest thought henceforth shall be,

That all I want I find in thee,

In thee, my God, in thee.