1  My stubborn will at last hath yielded;

    I would be Thine, and Thine alone,

    And this the prayer my lips are bringing,

    "Lord, let in me Thy will be done."

 2  I'm tired of sin, footsore and weary,

    The darksome path hath dreary grown,

    But now a light has ris'n to cheer me;

    I find in Thee my Star, my Sun.

 3  Thy precious will, O conqu'ring Savior,

    Doth now embrace and compass me;

    All discords hushed, my peace a river,

    My soul a prisoned bird set free.

 4  Shut in with Thee, O Lord, forever,

    My wayward feet no more to roam;

    What pow'r from Thee my soul can sever?

    The center of God's will my home.