O Grant Me, Lord, That Sweet Content

O grant me

Lord

that sweet con­tent

That sweet­ens ev­ery state;

Which no in­ter­nal fears can rent

Nor out­ward foes ab­ate.

Thou wilt keep him in per­fect peace—

Thy word the truth hath said—

Who

clothed with Thy great right­eous­ness

Thy arm his strength has made.

Grant me then

Lord

a con­trite heart

A meek and qui­et breast;

Thy own un­spot­ted mind im­part

Thy own un­shak­en rest.

That rest for hum­ble souls pre­pared

The bo­som of Thy love;

Where pa­tience finds her full re­ward

When per­fect­ed above.

Give me then grace this rest to seek

And

as I seek

to find;

My heart all pure

my soul all meek

The co­py of Thy mind.

So shall I know Thy ut­most pow­er

Thy ut­most glo­ry prove;

And in eter­ni­ty ad­ore

The match­less gift of love!