O Thou, who all things canst con­trol,
Chase this dead slum­ber from my soul;
With joy and fear, with love and awe,
Give me to keep Thy per­fect law.

O, may one beam of Thy blest light
Pierce through, dis­pel the shades of night:
Touch my cold breast with hea­ven­ly fire,
With ho­ly, con­quer­ing zeal in­spire.

For zeal I sigh, for zeal I pant;
Yet hea­vy is my soul and faint:
With steps un­wa­ver­ing, un­dis­mayed,
Give me in all Thy paths to tread.

With out­stretched hands, and stream­ing eyes,
Oft I be­gin to grasp the prize;
I groan, I strive, I watch, I pray;
But ah! how soon it dies away!

The dead­ly slum­ber soon I feel
Afresh upon my spir­it steal:
Rise, Lord; stir up Thy quick­en­ing pow­er,
And wake me that I sleep no more.

Single of heart, O! may I be,
Nothing may I de­sire but Thee:
Far, far from me the world re­move,
And all that holds me from Thy love.