My God, my Father, while I stray

Far from my home, on life’s rough way,

O, teach me from my heart to say,

“Thy will be done!”

2 What though in lonely grief I sigh

For friends beloved no longer nigh;

Submissive still would I reply,

“Thy will be done!”

3 If thou shouldst call me to resign

What most I prize—it ne’er was mine;

I only yield thee what was thine:

“Thy will be done!”

4 If but my fainting heart be blest

With thy sweet Spirit for its guest,

My God, to thee I leave the rest:

“Thy will be done!”