O Thou, who hast at Thy com­mand
The hearts of all men in Thy hand,
Our way­ward, err­ing hearts in­cline
To have no oth­er will but Thine.

Our wish­es, our de­sires, con­trol;
Mold ev­ery pur­pose of the soul;
O’er all may we vic­to­ri­ous prove
That stands be­tween us and Thy love.

Thrice blest will all our bless­ings be,
When we can look through them to Thee;
When each glad heart its tri­bute pays
Of love and gra­ti­tude and praise.

And while we to Thy glo­ry live,
May we to Thee all glo­ry give,
Until the fi­nal sum­mons come,
That calls Thy will­ing ser­vants home.