O Lord, my best desire ful­fill,
And help me to re­sign,
Life, health, and com­fort to Thy will,
And make Thy plea­sure mine.

Why should I shrink at Thy com­mand,
Whose love for­bids my fears?
Or trem­ble at the gra­cious hand
That wipes away my tears?

No, let me ra­ther free­ly yield
What most I prize to Thee;
Who ne­ver hast a good with­held,
Or wilt with­hold from me.

Thy fa­vor, all my jour­ney through,
Thou art en­gaged to grant;
What else I want, or think I do,
’Tis bet­ter still to want.

Wisdom and mer­cy guide my way,
Shall I re­sist them both?
A poor blind crea­ture of a day,
And crushed be­fore the moth!

But ah! my in­ward spir­it cries,
Still bind me to Thy sway;
Else the next cloud that veils my skies
Drives all these thoughts away.