My God, my Father, while I stray Far from 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; But 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." If thou shouldst call me to resign What most I prize-it ne'er was mine, I only yield Thee what was Thine; "Thy will be done." If 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."