Thou sweet, be­lov­èd will of God,
My an­chor ground, my fort­ress hill,
My spir­it’s si­lent, fair ab­ode,
In thee I hide me and am still.

O will, that will­est good alone,
Lead thou the way, thou guid­est best;
A lit­tle child, I fol­low on,
And, trust­ing, lean up­on Thy breast.

Thy beau­ti­ful, sweet will, my God,
Holds fast in its sub­lime em­brace
My cap­tive will, a glad­some bird,
Prisoned in such a realm of grace.

Within this place of cer­tain good,
Love ev­er­more ex­pands her wings,
Or, nest­ling in thy per­fect choice,
Abides con­tent with what it brings.

O light­est bur­den, sweet­est yoke!
It lifts, it bears my hap­py soul,
It giv­eth wings to this poor heart,
My free­dom is thy grand con­trol.

Upon God’s will I lay me down,
As child up­on its mo­ther’s breast;
No silk­en couch, nor soft­est bed,
Could ev­er give me such deep rest.

Thy won­der­ful grand will, my God,
With tri­umph now I make it mine;
And faith shall cry a joy­ous Yes!
To eve­ry dear com­mand of Thine.