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Verse 1

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!

Verse 2

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!

Verse 3

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!

Verse 1

Why do we mourn departing friends,
Or shake at death’s alarms?
’Tis but the voice that Jesus sends,
To call them to his arms.

Verse 2

Are we not tending upward, too,
As fast as time can move?
Nor would we wish the hours more slow,
To keep us from our love.

Verse 3

Why should we tremble to convey
Their bodies to the tomb?
There the dear flesh of Jesus lay,
And scattered all the gloom.

Verse 4

The graves of all the saints be blessed,
And softened every bed;
Where should the dying members rest,
But with the dying Head?

Verse 5

Thence he arose, ascending high,
And showed our feet the way;
Up to the Lord we, too, shall fly
At the great rising-day.

Verse 6

Then let the last loud trumpet sound,
And bid our kindred rise;
Awake! ye nations under ground;
Ye saints! ascend the skies.