1 FROM various cares our hearts retire,
Though deep and boundless their desire,
We've now to please but One,
Him, before whom each knee shall bow,
With Him is all our business now,
And those that are His own.
2 With these our happy lot is cast,
Through the world's deserts rude and waste,
Or through its gardens fair;
Whether the storms of trouble sweep,
Or all in dead supineness sleep,
To advance be all our care.
3 O Lord, the way, the truth, the life,
Henceforth let sorrow, doubt and strife
Drop off like autumn leaves;
Henceforth, as privileged by Thee,
Simple and undistracted be
The soul which to Thee cleaves.
4 Let us our feebleness recline
On that eternal love of Thine,
And human thoughts forget;
Childlike attend what Thou wilt say,
Go forth and serve Thee while 'tis day,
Nor leave our sweet retreat.