Immortal Love, with­in whose right­eous will
Is al­ways peace;
Oh pi­ty me, storm-tossed on waves of ill;
Let pas­sion cease;
Come down in pow­er with­in my heart to reign,
For I am weak, and strug­gle has been vain.

The days are gone, when far and wide my will
Drove me as­tray;
And now I fain would climb the ar­du­ous hill,
That nar­row way
Which leads through mist and rocks to Thine abode;
Toiling for man, and Thee, Al­migh­ty God.

Whate’er of pain Thy lov­ing hand al­lot
I glad­ly bear;
Only, O Lord, let peace be not for­got,
Nor yet Thy care,
Freedom from storms, and wild de­sires with­in,
Peace from the fierce op­pres­sion of my sin.

So may I, far away, when ev­en­ing falls
On life and love,
Arrive at last the ho­ly, hap­py halls,
With Thee above;
Wounded yet healed, sin-lad­en yet for­giv­en,
And sure that good­ness is my on­ly hea­ven.