When, dearest Lord, when shall it be
That I shall find my all in Thee,
The fullness of Thy promise prove,
The seal of Thine eternal love?
A poor, blind child I wander here,
If haply I may feel Thee near:
O dark, dark, dark, I still must say,
Amid the blaze of Gospel day.
Thee, only Thee, I fain would I find,
I cast the world and flesh behind;
Thou, only Thou, to me be given,
And all Thou hast in earth or Heaven.
All earthly comforts I disdain,
They shall not rob me of my pain,
Or make me senseless of my load,
Or less disconsolate for God.
Rather, let all the creatures take
Their miserable comforts back,
With every vain relief depart,
And leave me to my broken heart.
Leave me, my friends, the mourner leave,
For God, and not for you I grieve;
My weakness, O ye strong, despise,
My foolish ignorance, ye wise.
Let all my Father’s children be
Still angry, still displeased with me,
Disclaim, dishonor, and disown:
I would be poor, forlorn, alone.
A child, a fool, a thing of naught,
Abhorred, neglected, and forgot,
Contemned, abandoned, and distressed
Till I from mortal man have cease.
When from the arm of flesh set free,
Jesu, my soul shall fly to Thee:
Jesu, when I have lost my all,
My soul shall on Thy bosom fall.
When man forsakes, Thou wilt not leave,
Ready the outcasts to receive,
Thou all my simpleness I own,
And all my faults to Thee are known.
Ah! wherefore did I ever doubt?
Thou wilt in no wise cast me out,
A helpless soul that comes to Thee,
With only sin and misery.
Lord, I am sick; My sickness cure;
I want; Do Thou enrich the poor:
Under Thy mighty hand I stoop,
O lift the abject sinner up!
Lord, I am blind; be Thou my sight;
Lord, I am weak; be Thou my might;
A helper of the helpless be,
And let me find my all in Thee!