Oh, could I rule my erring thought,
Each wrong desire subdue;
And serve my maker as I ought,
As Thou would'st have me do.

Oh, could I discipline my mind,
To seek the heavenly goal;
Nor strive, in earthly things, to find
A treasure for the soul.

Then should my lips no more complain,
('Tis sin that makes my grief);
But Thou, that givest ease for pain,
Would'st quickly bring relief.

Ascendant over time and sense,
My feet would upward move,
Protected by thy Providence,
Rejoicing in thy love.