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Alfred H. Miles, ed. The Sacred Poets of the Nineteenth Century. 1907.

By Poems (1836). III. Thy Will Be Done

Charlotte Elliott (1789–1871)


MY GOD, and Father, while I stray,

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

Oh teach me from my heart to say,

“Thy Will be done.”

Though dark my path, and sad my lot,

Let me “be still” and murmur not,

Or breathe the prayer divinely taught,

“Thy will be done.”

What though in lonely grief I sigh

For friends beloved no longer nigh,

Submissive still would I reply,

“Thy Will be done.”

Though Thou hast called me to resign

What most I prized it ne’er was mine,

I have but yielded what was Thine;

“Thy Will be done.”

Should grief or sickness waste away

My life in premature decay,

My Father, still I’ll strive to say,—

“Thy Will be done.”

Let 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.”

Renew my will from day to day,

Blend it with Thine, and take away

All that now makes it hard to say,

“Thy Will be done.”