“Thy will be done.” Matt. 6. 10; Luke 22. 42
A. Steele C.M.
1
Peace, my complaining, doubting heart,
Ye busy cares, be still;
Adore the just, the sovereign Lord,
Nor murmur at his will.
2
Unerring wisdom guides his hand;
Nor dares my guilty fear,
Amid the sharpest pains I feel,
Pronounce his hand severe.
3
Let me reflect, with humble awe,
Whene’er my heart complains,
Compared with what my sins deserve,
How easy are my pains!
4
Yes, Lord, I own thy sovereign hand,
Thou just, and wise, and kind;
Be every anxious thought suppressed,
And all my soul resigned.
5
But O, indulge this only wish,
This boon I must implore:
Assure my soul that thou art mine,
My God, I ask no more.
