Now that my jour­ney’s just be­gun,
My course so lit­tle trod,
I’ll stay, before I fur­ther run,
And give my­self to God.

And, lest I should be ev­er led
Through sin­ful paths to stray,
I would at once begin to tread
In wis­dom’s plea­sant way.

What sor­rows may my steps at­tend,
I can­not now fore­tell;
But if the Lord will be my friend,
I know that all is well.

If all my earth­ly friends should die,
And leave me mourn­ing here;
Since God re­gards the or­phan’s cry,
O what have I to fear?

If I am rich, He’ll guard my heart,
Temptation to with­stand;
And make me will­ing to im­part
The boun­ties of His hand.

If I am poor, He can sup­ply
Who has my ta­ble spread;
Who feeds the ra­vens when they cry,
And fills His poor with bread.

And, Lord, what­ev­er grief or ill
For me may be in store,
Make me sub­miss­ive to Thy will,
And I would ask no more.

Attend me through my youth­ful way,
Whatever be my lot;
And when I’m fee­ble, old, and gray,
O Lord, for­sake me not.

Then still, as sea­sons hast­en by,
I will for Heav’n pre­pare;
That God may take me when I die,
To dwell for­ev­er there.