My Jesus, as thou wilt: O may thy will be mine; Into thy hand of love I would my all resign. Through sorrow or through joy Conduct me as thine own, And help me still to say, "My Lord, thy will be done." My Jesus, as thou wilt: If needy here, and poor, Give me thy people's bread, Their portion rich and sure. The manna of thy word Let my soul feed upon; And if all else should fail-- My Lord, thy will be done. My Jesus, as thou wilt: If among thorns I go, Still sometimes here and there Let a few roses blow. But thou on earth along The thorny path hast gone; Then lead me after thee. My Lord, thy will be done! My Jesus, as thou wilt: Though seen through many a tear, Let not my star of hope Grow dim or disappear. Since thou on earth hast wept And sorrowed oft alone, If I must weep with thee, My Lord, thy will be done. My Jesus, as thou wilt: If loved ones must depart Suffer not sorrow's flood To overwhelm my heart. For they are blest with thee, Their race and conflict won; Let me but follow them. My Lord, thy will be done! My Jesus, as thou wilt: When death itself draws nigh, To thy dear wounded side I would for refuge fly. Leaning on thee, to go Where thou before hast gone; The rest as thou shalt please. My Lord, thy will be done! My Jesus, as thou wilt: All shall be well for me; Each changing future scene I gladly trust with thee. Straight to my home above, I travel calmly on, And sing in life or death, "My Lord, thy will be done." --Benjamin Schmolke, tr. by J. Borthwick. GREAT AND SMALL There is no great nor small in Nature's plan, Bulk is but fancy in the mind of man; A raindrop is as wondrous as a star, Near is not nearest, farthest is not far; And suns and planets in the vast serene Are lost as midges in the summer sheen, Born in their season; and we live and die Creatures of Time, lost in Eternity. --Charles Mackay. GOD'S WILL BE DONE 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!" Though dark my path, and sad my lot, Let me "be still," and murmur not; O 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 strive to say, "Thy will be done!"