O that mine eye might closèd be
To what concerns me not to see.

That deafness might possess my ear
To what concerns me not to hear.

That truth my tongue might ever tie
From speaking words of vanity.

That no vain thought might ever rest
Or be conceived within my breast.

So that in deed and word and thought,
Glory may unto God be wrought.

But are wishes? Lord mine eye
Is fixed on Thee, to Thee I cry!

Cleanse, Lord, and purify my heart
And make it clean in every part.

And when ’tis pure, Lord, keep it so,
For that is more than I can do.