Dear Lord, I do not ask for place or power
Or wealth to satisfy an outward show.
Void would be place that Thou didst not bestow;
Power would be powerless every waiting hour
Wert Thou not present constant grace to shower,
Dispelling discontent, each phantom foe,
Redeeming sense from erstwhile ebb and flow,
To crave the wealth of Love, its only dower.
My will I here resign. Low at Thy feet
I kneel in deep humility, contrite,
With vision dimmed. Yet Thou from sure defeat
Wilt lift my groping sense to undimmed light,
To find myself within Thy love complete,
To find in Thee my All, my radiant right.
