| Alfred H. Miles, ed. The Sacred Poets of the Nineteenth Century. 1907. | | | Poems (1836).
III. Thy Will Be Done | | By Charlotte Elliott (1789–1871) |
| | 1834
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.” | |
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| Though dark my path, and sad my lot, | 5 |
| Let me “be still” and murmur not, | |
| Or breathe the prayer divinely taught, | |
| “Thy will be done.” | |
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| What though in lonely grief I sigh | |
| For friends beloved no longer nigh, | 10 |
| Submissive still would I reply, | |
| “Thy Will be done.” | |
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| Though Thou hast called me to resign | |
| What most I prized it ne’er was mine, | |
| I have but yielded what was Thine; | 15 |
| “Thy Will be done.” | |
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| Should grief or sickness waste away | |
| My life in premature decay, | |
| My Father, still I’ll strive to say,— | |
| “Thy Will be done.” | 20 |
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| 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, | 25 |
| Blend it with Thine, and take away | |
| All that now makes it hard to say, | |
| “Thy Will be done.” | | | | |
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