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, my God, be done!

Though dark my path, and sad my lot,

Let me be still, and murmur not,

But breathe the prayer divinely taught,

Thy will, my God, be done!

What though in lonely grief I sigh

For friends beloved, no longer nigh?

Submissive still would I reply,

Thy will, my God, be done!

If Thou shouldst call me to resign

What most I prize,—it ne’er was mine,—

I only yield Thee what is Thine;

Thy will, my God, be done!

Should pining sickness waste away

My life in premature decay,

In life or death teach me to say,

Thy will, my God, be done!

Renew my will from day to day,

Blend it with Thine, and take away

Whate’er now makes it hard to say,

Thy will, my God, be done!