My God, my por­tion, and my love,
My ev­er­last­ing all,
I’ve none but Thee in Heav’n above,
Or on this earth­ly ball.

What emp­ty things are all the skies,
And this in­fer­ior clod!
There’s no­thing here de­serves my joys,
There’s no­thing like my God.

In vain the bright, the burn­ing sun
Scatters his fee­ble light;
’Tis Thy sweet beams cre­ate my noon;
If Thou with­draw, ’tis night.

And whilst upon my rest­less bed,
Amongst the shades I roll,
If my Re­deem­er shows His head,
’Tis morn­ing with my soul.

To Thee we owe our wealth, and friends,
And health, and safe abode:
Thanks to Thy name for meaner things,
But they are not my God.

How vain a toy is glit­ter­ing wealth,
If once com­pared to Thee?
Or what’s my safe­ty, or my health,
Or all my friends, to me?

Were I pos­sess­or of the earth,
And called the stars my own,
Without Thy grac­es and Thy­self
I were a wretch un­done.

Let oth­ers stretch their arms like seas,
And grasp in all the shore;
Grant me the vi­sits of Thy face,
And I de­sire no more.