Thou sweet, beloved will of God,
My anchor-ground, and fortress-hill,
My spirit's silent, fair abode.
In thee I hide me and am still.
O will, that wiliest good alone,
Lead thou the way, thou guidest best;
A little child, I follow on,
And, trusting, lean upon thy breast.
Within this place of certain good,
Love evermore expands her wings;
Or, nestling in thy perfect choice,
Abides content with what it brings.
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 good will, my God,
With triumph now I make it mine;
And faith shall cry a joyous Yes!
To every least command of Thine.
