Hymns on the Lord's Supper, 143

Father, behold I come to do
Thy will, I come to suffer too
Thy acceptable will;
Do with me, Lord, as seems Thee good,
Dispose of this weak flesh and blood,
And all Thy mind fulfil.

Thy creature, in Thy hands I am.
Frail dust and ashes is my name;
The earthen vessel use,
Mould as Thou wilt the passive clay,
But let me all Thy will obey,
And all Thy pleasure choose.

Welcome whate'er my God ordain!
Afflict with poverty or pain
This feeble flesh of mine,
(But grant me strength to bear my load,)
I will not murmur at Thy rod,
Or for relief repine.

My spirit wound (but oh! be near)
With what far more than death I fear,
The darts of keenest shame;
Fulfill'd with more than killing smart,
And wounded in the tenderest part,
I still adore Thy name.

Beneath Thy bruising hand I fall;
Whate'er Thou send'st, I take it all,
Reproach, or pain, or loss;
I will not for deliverance pray,
But humbly unto death obey,
The death of Jesu's cross.