The poem
O Lord, my best desire fulfil, And help me to resign Life, health, and comfort to Thy will, And make Thy pleasure mine.
Why whould I shrink at Thy command, Whose love forbids my fears? Or tremble at the gracious hand That wipes away my tears?
No, rather let me 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 day, And crush'd before the moth!
But ah! my inward spirit cries, Still binds me to Thy sway; Else the next cloud that veils the skies Drives all these thoughts away.